Hoofprints down Memory Lane Part 1
by MixedMedia
Summary: Niamh is a recluse and has been for five years. So when a random amnesiac calling himself Loki crash-lands into her life, she doesn't take it too well. But it's her horses that will bring them together...and his past which will tear them apart. Multi-chapter, rated for strong language. Amnesiac!LokixOC friendship
1. Nettled

_**Hey hey guys. This one bit me at the beginning of the summer. I know, I know - yet another post-Avengers Loki fic featuring own characters and what-not. Hey, they're raving plot bunnies, what more can I say?**_

_**Plus I read the story of Sleipnir and kinda couldn't resist.**_

_**Working strictly off the films because I'm a rubbish fan and have never read the comics.**_

_**Anyway, without further ado, here is chapter one. It'll also be up on my LJ (prettyflicka . livejournal . com) Any characters you recognise, I don't own. I'll also do a glossary of the more technical horsey terms at the end. **_

_**Watch out for swearing.**_

* * *

I was lucky I was riding Bridie, my more sensible mount, when I found him. If I'd been riding Soiree, my batty Anglo-Arab, I'dve probably wound up in the ditch with him. Bridie jumped violently sideways as it was, almost unseating me (almost).

The Saturday my life did a backflip started off perfectly normally. I woke up at seven, switched off my alarm twice, got up, dressed and pulled my mid-length, wiry black hair back into a rough ponytail. At seven forty-five, I was ready to start on the stable chores.

I stepped out of the back door and pulled on my tall, well-worn yard boots. It's early spring and the air's still chill with the memories of winter, but for once, it wasn't raining. The cool breeze, flavoured with brine and washed with the sound of the English Channel blew over me gently. It's my favourite part of living by the sea – that and falling asleep every night, and waking every day to the sound of waves rather than vehicles on a main road.

The gravel crunched beneath my feet on the path from the house to the stables. The backing music to my mornings.

My yard has space for 18 horses, but it's just me so I try and keep the numbers down, especially at this time of year when I still keep them in at night. At the moment I only have eight – three are mine, the rest 'problem' liveries. There was the usual morning greeting of banging doors and whinnying for breakfast. Soiree, my dark bay Anglo-Arab, who I adore despite his eccentricities, did his usual trick of searching my pockets before trying to bite me when he found nothing. Cavalier, a tall, dark bay warmblood showjumper, didn't try to barge out the minute I shot his bolt back. His obedience training was paying off, I noted with pride.

That done, it was time for morning coffee in my cluttered little office. I checked my schedule for the day in my diary. A last session with Cavalier before lunch, and starting with Winter, a black cob that had arrived yesterday with an issue with trailers. Not my usual sort of problem, but one I was confident of fixing. Then the majority of my charges were turned out and I tacked up and took Bridie, my chestnut Irish Hunter, for a run.

Her hooves clattered cheerfully on the asphalt of the road, splitting the early morning. Bridie's fifteen now and a bit stiff in her hind legs, but still acts like a four year old. I sat calmly on her back, enjoying the quiet of the morning. The Channel still had its silver haze as it tripped along on my right, just visible over the cliffs and farmland and long tufts of grass. The air had yet to warm up and bit through my thin black fleece, but it was pleasant.

Bridie was as energized as I was by the morning hush. Once we hit our favourite bridleway, I took off the brakes and we flew along the grassy track, barely touching the ground.

There was no telling how long the guy had been in the ditch before we found him.

* * *

The usually calm Bridie was still snorting, straining her neck as she peered warily at the man below her, lying in a patch of stinging nettles.

My first instinct was to leave him there – not my problem.

I rode forward. Bridie sidestepped the spot with an expression of horror and tried to gallop off. I reined her in to a steady walk.

But I kept glancing back. (Not your problem) I said to myself, again and again.

But whose problem was it, out here in the middle of nowhere? It's hardly a well-trodden track at this time of year. The man could freeze…(it's not my problem…)

"Ah, shit."

I turned Bridie around, trotted back and jumped off for a closer look.

He was stick-skinny and unhealthily pale, emphasised by a head of long, straight black hair. Dressed in nothing but a forest green t-shirt and pair of thin black trousers, he was almost invisible against the muck and greenery of the ditch. He appeared to be asleep despite his uncomfortable position.

(Where the hell did you come from?) The closest village is four miles away, the closest town eight. I did a mental checklist - I know everyone in the village by sight and this guy certainly wasn't one of them. I rarely went into town, true, but nobody walks eight miles in bare feet unless they're bloody desperate. Or drunk. Potentially both to fall asleep in a large nettle patch.

I slithered clumsily down the bank and came to rest at his side.

"Um…hello…mister? Funny place for a nap…" I prodded him a few times. "Look, mate, you'll catch cold if you stay out here…" I felt ridiculous. They guy might be a mass murderer for all I knew and I was sitting in a ditch with him and a horse.

He shifted ever so slightly. His brow contracted and emerald green eyes blinked open. Once. Twice. Thrice. "What…?" He sounded awful.

"Bad night?" I asked.

He winced as he moved to sit up, mostly because he'd used the patch of nettles as support.

"Easy." I let him grab my shoulder, instinctively looping an arm around his upper torso to help. His head came up and he met my blue eyes.

Face on, he wasn't too bad to look at. High cheekbones and thin brows gave him an almost sly look, and he had an ethereal quality to him, as though he wasn't quite of this world. But something had taken a toll on him. His eyes were ringed with shadows, his skin sallow, his hair greasy and unkempt. The leaves stuck in it weren't doing him any favours either. He looked feral.

Despite this, I held his gaze, not even feeling silly beneath my riding hat.

He broke first, and glanced around with unfocused eyes. "Where am I?"

"Um…England, about 10 miles away from Barnford. You must have a serious hangover."

"A serious what?"

(Christ the guy must have been hammered.)"Hangover…headache, nausea…what you're experiencing right now…"

He blinked again. "Hangover…" he said thoughtfully.

I gave up. "Well you can't stay in a ditch. Come on." I stood, with some difficulty on the slippery muck, and held out my hand. He stared at it for a second, then hesitantly took it. He towered over my five foot nine frame as I hauled him up the bank.

* * *

Bridie was still there, regarding ditch man warily.

Keeping on arm around the man's torso to steady him, I held out my hand. She stepped over to me, slowly. Extending her nose, nostrils blown wide, she sniffed tentatively at him.

I snuck a glance at the stranger. He was staring at her, almost as though sizing her up. Then he put out a hand. She sniffed it, whuffed once, and accepted his touch.

Bridie's reaction told me this man was something different. Not necessarily bad, but something to be wary of. I took a sideways glance at him. (Who are you?)

"If we go back to mine I can give you a lift home. Where do you live?"

His expression because thoughtful. Very thoughtful, and then suddenly clouded. "I…I don't recall…I'm sorry, I can't remember…" A hand like a vice landed on my arm. "Someone…I think whoever sent me here has also stolen my memories…" He looked genuinely panicked.

This was getting stranger by the minute. First, the man is lying in a ditch in the middle of nowhere, and now he claims to have had his memories stolen. It all sounded far too Men in Black for my liking. "Well, you're clearly familiar with horses. Can you remember your name?"

His expression cleared, and he nodded. "Yes…yes I do. It would seem that whatever took my memories left me with that at least."

He had a clipped accent. Private schoolboy clipped, like someone from a 1950s novel.

"So…what is it?"

"My name is Loki."

(That isn't very 1950s.)

"…really?"

"Yes. My name is Loki, I am certain of it."

(Someone's parents had a strange taste in baby names.)"Ok, _Loki_, my name is Niamh…we're going back to my house and you can try and remember anything else about yourself on the way."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I don't have strangers in my house. Not in my house, my farm, my little sanctuary here on the edge of the world. I live alone, and I like it.

(But where the hell else am I supposed to take him? On a horse?)

I sincerely hoped Loki (Christ, what a name!) remembered his home address and telephone number on the way back, or my life just took a straight down nosedive. Minus the parachute.

* * *

There was a jarring impact, then nothing. That was all the man known as Loki recalled.

The next moment, it seemed, he was being shaken awake by a woman, a young woman with hair the raven black of his own hidden beneath some form of helmet and ice blue eyes. She swam in and out of focus, and he had to blink several times to clear his vision.

He appeared to be lying in a ditch. An orange horse stood above them, peering down at the scene with a hesitant curiosity, as though afraid to get too close.

He blinked again, tried to recall how he got here. It was like running into a solid iron wall – in fact it physically hurt his brain, as though something was pounding it from inside his skull. The information remained locked away.

One thing he did recall was his name. Loki. _Loki? What sort of name is Loki?_

The woman was looking at him with something akin to astonishment, though there was a flicker of concern behind the wall in her eyes. Briefly he wondered why such a wall would be there, but then he tried to sit up and put his hand in a patch of something very green and very painful, and the thought was lost.

Now she was talking about something called a 'hangover' through the ringing in his ears. Loki wondered if he wasn't from this world, wherever this world was, as he had never heard of something called a 'hangover.' If they were anything like his headache and the ache of the bruises forming on his back where he had hit the ground, they must be highly unpleasant. "Hangover…" he murmured. It certainly sounded ominous.

"Well, you can't stay in the ditch," said his mystery woman. She stood and extended her hand.

Loki hesitated for a second. All he knew about this woman was that she had black hair, blue eyes and owned at least one horse. Something at the back of his mind told him to tread carefully.

_On a strange world with no memories. Don't turn away a hand of friendship. _He reached out and took it.

The horse came to the woman once they were out of the ditch. She still looked suspicious. Her black and pink nostrils were flared, her neck muscles taught under their layer of sweat.

Some instinct deep in the man caused him to reach out to the pretty mare - slowly, he extended a hand, palm held flat, and held it patiently. The mare extended her nose and sniffed it. Then she seemed to accept him, pushing into the touch. The velvet soft muzzle stirred something in his mind. _I've been around horses before. I am certain._

He grabbed that thought and held onto it, determined not to lose it. It was a clue. He ignored the odd look the woman gave him.

"If we go back to mine, I can give you a lift home. What's your address?"

Did he have a home? Where was it? Where was he from? If not this world, then where, and who had stolen his memories? And why? What had he done…?

_What have I done to deserve this?_

"I…I don't recall…I'm sorry, I…" He had to grip the arm not supporting him around his shoulders. He forced his voice to remain calm – no need to embarrass himself further by babbling. "I can't remember…I think whoever sent me here has also stolen my memories."

She didn't look shocked…just wary. And a little confused. He didn't blame her. It felt like he had fallen out of the sky.

"Well, you're clearly familiar with horses. Can you remember your name?"

"Yes." Relief flooded him – a question he could answer. "It would seem that whoever took my memories left me with that at least. My name is Loki."

He felt a flicker of fear at her surprised expression, but it soon cleared. "Well, _Loki_, I'm 'Neave,' we're going back to my house, and you can try and remember anything else about yourself on the way."

Loki felt sure that he could not.


	2. The Man From the Ditch

It took me half an hour to get home, leading Bridie and supporting Loki with my other arm. There were bruises forming down his back where his very loose t-shirt had slipped down. I wondered who had whacked him about like that and felt a flash of anger. I'd seen horses with similar marks – they were always uncalled for.

I was cross anyway, more with myself than with my mysterious charge. I don't let people into my home. I make clients coffee in the 'Yardhouse' (my name for the side nearest the house, containing the tack room, feed room and my office). And for the first time, I was apprehensive when the red-brick buildings came into view over the hill, contrasted against the deep blue of the sea, lightened at the shore by springtime haze.

Home. East Cliff Farm.

My sister Edina and I were often banished here during the summer, usually with mother and our aunt. Edina's older than me and spent more time with my stiff-upper-lip aunt and our mother than I did. So when it passed to me, I made my farm – _my farm._ My haven, me and my horses.

And now it was me, my horses and a stranger I had pulled out of a ditch.

(He's not staying. All I have to do is call the police and report him found. After that, he's not my issue any more.)

I deposited Loki in the Yardhouse, the only place on the yard with seating (I sure as hell wasn't leaving him alone in the house, thank you) while I untacked Bridie and apologised for the short outing. She snorted into my hand, showing no hard feelings.

The yard is built in a rectangle with two wide archways instead of a wall at the south end, which looks out over the sea. It's red brick with traditional half-doors, a window, and a rug rail for each stable. Most stables stand empty, sad and cold. I could easily fill them all. I have a reputation with horses, one I've worked hard for. However, it's only me, so I have to keep the numbers down and keep to some kind of schedule, or I'd never sleep.

My thoughts turned again to Loki as I walked Bridie out to her field. I was breaking every rule in the book for him, and I knew nothing about him. _He_ knew nothing about him. Perhaps he'd been in an accident, whacked over the head, and had wandered until…I dismissed that thought. We were well off the road, away from civilisation and he was barefoot. Anyway, all the drivers around here would stop (unless it was tourist season and a complete stranger had hit him while driving their bloody great cars too fast. But that's weeks away.)

Unless he really had fallen out of the sky, but that was impossible. He would have been killed.

Distractedly I opened the gate and let Bridie out of her headcollar. She nipped at my pockets, looking for treats – finding none, she trotted away towards Hatty in the next field, a fleabitten grey with a sweet nature and a lethal bucking problem. I barely noticed her go, only snapping out of my trance when I got zapped by the electric fence.

(That's worrying) I mused, sucking my tingly fingers as I walked back to the yard. I'd never paid less attention to my horses in my life. And all because of some strange man with a stranger name.

* * *

That same strange man was leaning against my desk flipping through one of my Monty Roberts books when I returned to the office.

"Don't touch my things, it's rude," I said sharply.

He looked at me, green eyes contrite. "My apologies," he said, sliding the book back into place. "I was…curious."

"Ask next time you get curious."

We fell into an awkward silence.

I have conversations with clients about horses and the grocers in the village for measurements of fruit and veg. I don't entertain friends because I don't have any. I didn't know what to say.

I live alone. Loki can't stay here.

He was now reading one of my business cards. "N – i – a – m – h…this is how you spell your name?"

"Yes. It's Irish Gaelic, I think. Means 'radiance' or something."

"And yet you say, 'Neave'?"

"The pronunciation? Oh, I don't know, I've never given it much thought. 'What's in a name?'"

"What does that mean?"

(He's doing a really good job of getting rid of the public schoolboy image.) "Like…it's…your name doesn't define who you are…or something. What's with the twenty flippin' questions anyway?"

"I have many more than twenty questions."

This was starting to get on my nerves. "You've lost your memory, not your brain," I snapped. "Speaking of which, have you remembered where you come from yet?"

Loki's face fell a little, but for a change, the answer wasn't 'I don't know.' "I've been thinking. I believe it is a long way away."

"Are we talking Edinburg long distance or Canada long distance?"

He smiled wanly. "Further."

"Do you have family there?" (Please say yes…)

"I can recall…a mother and father. And…a brother."

"So how far is further?"

Loki's face clouded. "I think…no, it sounds like madness, even to me."

"You're talking to the woman known locally to kids as 'The Batty Horse Lady.' Try me"

"I think we're talking different world long distance."

(Men in Black territory.) I was silent.

"I said it was madness."

"You'd be right."

"But think." He crossed the small room and sat beside me on the sofa. I had to remind myself he'd been closer to me than this when I tensed. "You've said yourself, we're miles from civilisation and you found me in a ditch. You use words that I don't understand. And you are right – my memories have been taken, not my mind."

All of which was true (but other planets?)

"I remember a city. A city of golden spires and silver trim. Not a city, I think, you'd find here. Also your reaction to my name…I don't think 'Loki' is much used on this world for naming offspring."

"Not in this country certainly," I murmured. (Maybe, maybe he has a point…no, it can't be…)

But what had I been thinking about him falling out of the sky? And the bruises on his back from a hard impact…

It occurred to me that I was in over my head. I tucked a stray strand of fringe behind my ear. This was a whole new level of weirdness.

"This is…look, I need coffee, and you need a shower and to put some shoes on."

And for the first time in about five years, I let a stranger into my house.

* * *

I deposited Loki in the upstairs bathroom and assumed (correctly, judging by the noises) that he knew what one was and how to use it. Alien or not, he must keep clean. I tried not to think about him using my shampoo.

Or my soap. That idea was worse.

In the relative safety of my kitchen, I put the kettle on and stood basking in the sunlight streaming through the large windows while I tried to calm my breathing. The last person I had in this house was Edina, delivering wedding invitations and trying to insist I threw a housewarming party once I'd finished redecorating. That had been five years ago. Since then I'd lived apart. Now I had a man in my bathroom. Using my soap.

The simplest thing to do was, to call the police and turn him over to them. They could give him psychiatric care, maybe, or help him find his real family, but that image of him didn't sit right with me. He was too…with-it, somehow, to be a maniac, not that I knew a lot about maniacal people.

Horses have their dark sides; Hatty's bucking was, I was certain, born from lack of confidence; Cavalier was a top class showjumper with no manners; Quickie, my two-year-old, has a vicious bite on him when he's scared or in a bad mood. It was entirely possible Loki was manipulating something out of me, despite his innocent looks.

But I knew genuine panic when I saw it. I saw it every day in the eyes of my long-term resident.

I wondered what Loki had done to deserve such a fate.

As the kettle finished I put instant coffee granules into two mugs and added the freshly boiled water. I let my thoughts swirl into the bitter brown depths as I stirred.

(Do aliens drink coffee?)

Well, this one would have to. It's my fuel. I added a dash of milk to one mug and took a sip. Perfect.

The guy had also thrown out my schedule for today. Perhaps my annoyance was misguided, but I take my work very seriously. I needed to do some final work with Cavalier, reinforce the good habits I'd been fostering for the past three weeks or so. I also needed to start on Winter. It would probably have to wait until this afternoon, or maybe even tomorrow.

(Stupid man…he had to be in that ditch on this day, didn't he?)

"What are you thinking about?"

I jumped, and almost dropped my coffee, swivelled to see Loki standing in the doorway towel-drying his hair. He was still wearing his pyjama-esque clothing, which was smeared with greenery and ditch water but he himself looked cleaner and healthier.

"Dammit, you move quietly," I said.

"You seemed preoccupied," he responded in his musical accent. "What with?"

The truth blurted out before I could think of anything tactful to say. "I don't like having you here. It's my corner of the world."

His face fell a little in confusion. Too late I remembered where I had found this man.

In an attempt to diffuse the awkward situation I pushed the second mug of cooling coffee towards him. "Have a go at that. It's coffee."

Loki looked suspiciously at the mug. I didn't blame him. It was covered in neon pink polka dots. To him it must have looked like it had some rare disease. Nevertheless he raised it to his lips and took a sip.

I watched him roll it over his tongue, trying to gauge his reaction.

He furrowed his brow a little. "Do you have anything to sweeten it with?"

"Um…yeah." I opened the top cupboard and found the tin of sugar.

Loki smiled. "Now I do know what that is."

"That's a relief," I muttered as he added a heaped spoonful and tried the drink again.

"Better."

"Good. I can't live without this stuff." I put the sugar away again.

Once again, silence descended. This one made less awkward by coffee, but awkward nonetheless.

I tried not to think about how domestic we looked. Or how well he fit here. In MY kitchen, in MY house.

Loki spoke first.

"Niamh, I…apologise if I'm intruding. I have no wish to cause trouble. You've been very good to me thus far…"

"No…look, I…I'm sorry if I was a little abrupt. I don't get visitors very much. I'm not exactly…I've been something of a recluse for five years."

Loki smiled. "Dysfunctional families are something I know about."

"That brother you mentioned?"

He nodded. "We are, I think, very much opposites – he relies much on physical strength while I am better with words. But the memories I have of him currently are…pleasant, in their way…"

Something in his tone caught my attention. "You think that something happened between you?"

"I…" He screwed up his face as though in pain and set down his mug. "When I try and remember it's as though something physically pushes me away. And it hurts."

"Maybe…they'll come back when they're ready to…" I offered. Scant advice, but I do horses, not people.

"Perhaps." He did not look mollified. I drained my coffee cup and considered my next move.

(Imagine you're dealing with a scared horse. Imagine he's Mirage_._)

"What happens to me now?" he asked eventually.

I hesitated.

(Oh shit, Niamh, what are you doing?)

But I couldn't quite bring myself to get rid of him. Not tonight. Not when he was convinced he was from another planet, and making sense while saying it. "I suppose you'd better stay here for tonight."

For a moment all he could do was stare at me. "I…I don't know what to say. Thank you?" And he clearly meant it.

"That'll do just fine." I tried to squash my internal uneasiness. "I'll decide what to do with you in the morning. You can't stay here long-term, you do realise that? I'm not…I'm not the best person for dealing with memory issues."

"But still…I think it is preferable to sleeping in a ditch."

"Fair point."

Loki glanced into his (now empty) mug. He gave me a slightly sheepish look from under his long lashes (and when did you notice that?)

"Do you have any more coffee?"

I couldn't stop myself smiling at him. (Damn you green eyed hypnotist. I could actually start liking you if I'm not careful.) "Plenty more."

* * *

**_Tack - the umbrella term for the saddle and bridle, and anything else the horse might wear while being ridden_**

**_Monty Roberts is a world - famous horse whisperer and a major inspiration of mine. I've seen him in action, it's beautiful. _**

**_Reveiws are love, people =D _**


	3. A Working Day

**_Hel-lo once again readers. First off, thank you to those who have reviewed, followed, read, and in any other way supported this story. I've worked hard on it and it means a lot. Part 1 (this bit) is finished and is ten chapters or so. I have started on Part 2 (where the rest of the Avengers appear, and boy is that gonna be fun...), but it's slow going what with uni work. But it is going. _**

_**Anyway, part 3. Usual disclaimers apply. **_

* * *

Regardless of how many strangers she found in ditches (to use her own words), Niamh still had a yard to run. She lent Loki a pair of her old shoes (tall, a horrible shade of green, and made of a material he had never seen before – she called them 'wellies'), deposited Loki in the Yardhouse again (this time giving him free reign over the bookshelves, the kettle, and her coffee mug and 'mini-fridge') and left him to it.

Loki could tell by the way his fingers ran over the spines of the volumes that he was a book lover. They were on subjects he had never heard of – the training of ex-racehorses, raising foals to the age of backing, natural horsemanship and forming a 'natural' bond with your animal. He took them down from the shelves and spent a while perusing them with his third cup of coffee. They spoke of treating the horse with respect and forming a partnership; working together as opposed as the animal working for the human. They spoke of bonds of trust.

Loki glanced out of the small window, dulled a little by accumulated dust and dirt and watched as Niamh cleared out stables. Her black hair was pulled back from her face and she looked tired, but happy. A dark horse with a white mark between his eyes still in his stable reached out a nipped at her sleeve. She laughed, the movement a silent joy through the wood and glass barrier, reached out and petted his nose.

He could see why Niamh was persuaded by this thinking. She obviously cared for her horses as she had never cared for people. Free from the bonds she placed upon herself when around people, she suited her name. 'Radiance.'

Loki himself was confused and trying not to show it. Earlier, he had sat on this very couch and tried to recall what he could. Images had come, certainly – the city of golden spires and gleaming heights and trees. Not of this world, certainly. A father, white bearded and one-eyed, an important figure in this place. His mother, a small woman with curling honey tresses, with a demeanour as fierce as her husbands'. And a brother with hair the colour of spun gold, dressed in silver and scarlet. Always laughing.

He wondered why he had lost them. He wondered if they had anything to do with his current situation. He hoped not. He recalled feelings of strife, but also of unity. He recalled defending one another against many foes, fantastical foes that he would not have believed existed if he wasn't gripped by the conviction that these events were _real._ But when he tried to recall any more than that, the sensation of resistance returned and he began to get a headache.

Many of these details had been lost when he tried to recall it to Niamh later. He was left with the nagging sensation that he was missing something. That something had happened to them.

Or to him.

Loki flung out a hand and hit the painted brick wall beside him. Oh, but it was frustrating! Knowing the information was there and being unable to access it. He wanted to know. He _needed_ to know. He wanted to know if he was worthy of this woman and her gruff kindness, or if there was a reason he had no memory of who he was. With every answer, more questions were posed.

Perhaps they had been brought together for a reason. Niamh herself has secrets that revolved around her family history, that much he knew for certain. He face had clammed up when Loki had mentioned family. Only the slightest flash of – pain, perhaps? – had crossed her ice blue eyes before vanishing behind her wall.

"_I don't like having you here."_ _What happened to you, the beautiful Niamh? What happened to both of us?_

It was frustrating beyond belief that he did not know. It seemed the mystery of Niamh would be easier to solve than his own. That was something that would take time.

Loki didn't know if he could wait.

* * *

I finished Dawn's stable and took a breather, leaning on the door and just enjoying the breathing of the sea breeze on my face. Dawn was a young dressage horse who was very nappy, according to her owner, forever backing off the bit and refusing to move forward and bucking when she was asked to perform a transition. I was still trying to work out how to break it to said owner (of the huge ego, 'all the gear, no idea,' ilk) that the problem lay with the rider, not the horse. I had watched them together – the woman rode with the grace of a sack of potatoes and about the skill level. It was full of mixed messages, and Dawn was a clever horse. No wonder the poor creature was confused.

Still, I was being paid for it, so I had given the horse some simple hacking and schooling to get her enjoying life again and was going to recommend the owner got herself a decent instructor. They never listened. It was frustrating. It's bad for the horse, and eventually they become bitter and moody. I had treated far too many horses that had been wrecked by one owner or other. Some of them I'd happily kill.

The radio, set to a golden oldie station, crooned Vienna, one of my favourite Billy Joel tracks. I hummed along. Give me an eighties rock n roll classic any day. It's my motivation, like a kind of musical espresso (if there's any such a thing.)

In the next stall, Cavalier nipped at my sleeve in a friendly manner, asking for treats. I laughed and stroked his nose. "No carrots," I said firmly. He snorted in annoyance, but accepted the contact.

I allowed myself a second of pride. There was a time a few weeks ago that the warmblood would have done that out of spite, in addition to the barging, bucking and jumping out of paddocks. His first week here I had had to raise the height of his paddock fence to stop him jumping into the mare's field and causing havoc, and that had been the least of my problems. It had been a bit of an uphill struggle, but the gelding was now behaving himself. He had a big personality underneath his ill-mannered treatment of his young owner.

He would be ready to go home in a few days, along with a few hints and tips for keeping up his training. This owner, I knew, would take the advice on board, for which I was grateful, and I fully expected to see him in the national magazines next year.

The song changed to Pink Floyd. I could feel Loki watching me from all the way across the yard through the Yardhouse windows. With an effort, I ignored him and continued mucking out.

His bright emerald stare made me uncomfortable…but it wasn't unpleasant. Which was just confusing.

For the first time in my life I had another human – or an approximation of one, according to him - to plan for. It was overwhelming. What did he eat? _Did_ he eat? Where would he sleep? I would have to open up parts of the house I rarely ventured into – my sister's old room perhaps, or my childhood one.

Could I trust him to help with the horses?

I thought so…perhaps. He was familiar with them, but to what degree? Could he ride? Would he be rough, would he hurt them? Would he…would he…would he…I had to lean against the wall of Quickie's stable and take a deep breath or three to stop myself having an all-out panic attack.

His presence was almost tangible after living so long by myself. It almost made me itch.

* * *

With some difficulty I finished the mucking out. Loki hadn't emerged from the Yardhouse at any point so I tacked up Cavalier and took him into the school for half an hour. My ménage is a point of pride for me – almost square, surrounded by bushes and stained fencing, filled with rubber. Jump wings, white plastic poles and cavaletti are stored in one corner. I put up three fairly low straight bars jumps in a line across the middle, mounted, and concentrated on asking Cavalier to listen to me as opposed to taking the bit between his teeth, disregarding my leg, and jumping everything in sight (including the ménage fences), as he had done the first time I'd ridden him.

I'd used a mixture of tried and tested schooling techniques and some natural horsemanship to focus the showjumper's attention on the rider, building trust and a good working relationship. Cavalier was supple in my hands, working into the bridle and leaping off my leg. Once we had warmed up, we flew around the grid.

I forgot my mysterious houseguest, I forgot everything. There was nothing but the horse at the end of the reins.

Therefore it came as something of a surprise when I dropped back to trot and found Loki watching me over the gate, so I rode over to him. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long. You ride like poetry in motion."

I supposed I should have been flattered. Instead I felt naked. Exposed. "Why are you watching me?" I snapped.

Loki's face fell into confusion. "I'm sorry, I don't…I wasn't aware that you-"

I dismounted so I was at his level, incensed. "In case you hadn't noticed, _mister_, I live on my own, I work on my own, I exist _on my own,_ and I don't appreciate some random amnesiac that I found in a _ditch_ snooping around in my life! It's not…it's…not nice. It's my private things. There are lines you don't cross." I had to stop myself from spluttering and making myself look like an idiot.

Wheeling, I tried to tug Cavalier after me but a hand on my arm stopped me. Loki.

"The way you handle him, the way you ride – it's like magic. It's a gift, Niamh. Why would you not want to share it?"

I pulled away. Cavalier snorted, unsettled by the tension. "Don't presume to know me. You don't. I dragged you out of a ditch. That doesn't give you the right to pry." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. "You can't stay here. I'll take you to the police in the morning. They might be able to help you with your-" I tapped the side of my temple, "_problems._"

Unable to meet his gaze any more, wound up and even a little frightened by the intensity of feelings I'd had no cause to feel in years regarding another person, I turned away, tugging Cavalier after me. I left him standing by the gate.

I didn't turn back. I couldn't.

* * *

For the rest of the day I kept out of his way. He still had the run of the Yardhouse while I did some of what I term the 'preliminary' work with Winter. He was a black show cob gelding who had an intense dislike of trailers. I found him a real gentleman, with good manners and a clear head who responded well to my no-nonsense way of handling. I merely did some lunge work with him that afternoon, deciding the real work would begin tomorrow.

Loki did not reappear for the rest of the day.

I'm not used to feeling guilty, yet guilty I felt. I wasn't sure what was more annoying. I didn't trust him, yet had let him into my house. Was I really about to turn on him like this?

I tucked a stray bit of hair behind my ear.

(He might have a family out there somewhere, waiting. The police could help him find them.)

(But rattling on about alien planets and otherworldly cities? They'd lock him away. It would destroy him.)

* * *

I decided I couldn't put off the conversation with Dawn's owner any longer, and called her in the office over my lunch break. We set up an appointment for Monday afternoon.

I also made the bittersweet call to Cavalier's owner, and told her she could pick him up in a couple of days. She was ecstatic, of course, but I felt a sense of tainted pride. The horse had really grown on me. But, as with all the rest, it was onwards and upwards.

Loki noticed my expression as I put the phone down, nursing his coffee mug (how many is that now?)

"It troubles you to let them go," he mused.

"I can't keep them forever, much as I'd like to keep some of them," I replied shortly, still annoyed with myself from earlier. (Jesus, this guy is so perceptive.)"Would you stop with the 'reading me' thing? It's intrusive."

"Sorry…I can't help it. I notice you. Maybe I notice other people in the same way."

"Maybe. Not much chance to test it out here…just you and me."

"Though not for much longer, it seems."

He sounded resigned. It nudged something within me.

I know horses. I had sorted out one last year who had been lifeless after a rough ride with an ignorant owner. The idiot had taken instruction from a "family friend" whose ideas about training horses dated from the Victorian era. When he had finally been sold and his new owner bought him to me, I had been all-out scared by the resigned look in his eyes, the way his head hung at half-mast, exhausted, uncaring, helpless.

Watching him come back to life had been the sweetest moment in mine.

I tucked my hair behind my ear.

"Loki, I…"

"Niamh…" he said at the same time.

I fell silent, waiting.

"I…I want to apologise. As I said this morning, I understand I'm intruding on your life here and I don't want to make you uncomfortable. If I've…if I've crossed any irretrievable lines since what you said this morning, then I am truly sorry. And I can respect that you might not want me around if I have."

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," I said quietly. "I shouldn't have said that to you this morning. I shouldn't have threatened to take you to the police. It was rude." I couldn't bring myself to meet his eye.

"So…you're not going to…"

I could. I could say, "Sorry, yes I am. I can't deal with other people," I could pack him into the car in the morning... "I don't know."

I looked out at the darkening sky. It was barely seven. The evenings were getting lighter, but not that much. They sky was scudded with dark grey, almost purple clouds that gave way to lighter blues and pinks between the gaps. Sooner they would deepen into burnt orange and clear violet fading into midnight blue as the night drew down. The ever constant wash of the sea played soothingly in the background as a peculiar sensation infused the room. It occurred to me, much later than it should have, that a comfortable, companionable silence stretched over us. The horses were in, the feeds done. It was time for my own feed.

Well…mine and his.

I was, however, reluctant to move. Moments like this were something I could get used to.

(Bugger it, Niamh, chap falls out of the sky and you throw all your principles out of the window…what is so special about him? He's just a man. A sentient being, if not a human. They're unreliable. You know that. )

Reluctantly I broke the silence. "I need food, and so do you. You can't survive on coffee."

The man was turning out to be more of an addict than me. It didn't seem to be affecting him – I knew most humans would have keeled over from overdose by now, but not Loki. Maybe he really was from outer space.

Loki smiled at the spotty mug in his hands. "It's nice. Even after seven cups."

I shook my head. "How you haven't collapsed from a caffeine overdose I do not know…"

Loki's brow furrowed in confusion. Of course he had never heard of caffeine. "If you…we…have too much of the stuff that's in coffee, it can be poisonous." I clarified.

"I have not felt any ill effects."

"I can tell. Come on, I want to eat."

* * *

I couldn't let Loki starve, obviously. But all I have is ready meals. I can't cook, I never learnt. I was lucky, or maybe he was just being polite, but Loki didn't seem to mind a microwaved meal of lasagne and some vegetables on the side. True, he regarded it a little suspiciously, but he ate the lot. That was one less headache.

Loki was being nice, trying to work out the hot taps to rinse his plate off. Again, I wondered if he was trying to make up for making me uncomfortable earlier on, or whether I was being taken for a ride. Whether he wanted something from me, and I didn't want to think about what that something might be. It was so confusing.

I never stopped to think about how it must have been for him.

I distracted myself by searching for the keys to the shut – up parts of the house in the big drawer. I was going to put him in my old room – all I needed to do was set the bed up. He would have to sleep in his clothes, there was no way I was giving him my pyjamas as well.

Loki seemed occupied playing with the taps so I left him to it. As I spread pressed sheets over the old mattress and plumped pillows I tried not to think about having company, another person sleeping in my house.

It had been building all day. The feeling that made me want to run.

I closed my eyes. I was NOT going to having a moment.

* * *

I had a moment. I showed Loki to his room, went back down to the living room, and hid under a blanket.

This house is full of memories. Not all of them are good ones.

This was the first time in years the house had an extra person in it.

Eventually I forced myself to stop shaking. Normally I hate myself after one of these…attacks, but usually they occur after something stupid like the weekly shop or a client meeting.

That was why Loki couldn't stay here.

Once again, I ascended the dark stairs. The night had drawn in with my curtains, all the lights were off. The door was ajar and a sliver of weak light fell upon his sleeping face.

He looked at peace. The shadows beneath his cheekbones seemed as black as his hair, just a smear of night on the pillow. He retained his ethereal quality beneath the duvet, however.

(Loki. Who are you?)

The name was unfamiliar, and unusual. The library, and an internet search might turn up something.

And the question remained – would I turn him over to strangers?

My aunt would, in an instant. Probably my mother and father too. Edina? Maybe. Nothing could be permitted to tarnish the family reputation, after all.

Would I turn him over? I _wanted_ to. I _could._

The smug voice in the back of my head said I wouldn't. I knew it was right. I am not my family.

The man shifted suddenly. Tensed, and shivered. His face twitched as he dreamed. A nightmare? Or a memory? I knew myself that there was sometimes little difference between the two.

Seized with an unexpected protectiveness, I grabbed an extra blanket from the back of the chair and threw it over his sleeping form. Then, scared by so much sentimentality shown towards another human being, I retreated to the relative safety of my bed and book.

* * *

"_**Are you sure this is wise, Father? He does not know who he is."**_

_**The old man with the silver eye-patch looked down over his shining city, and away over the rainbow bridge. "Neither does she. They will teach each other much."**_

"_**I just hope you and Heimdell know what you're doing." The young man with the blue eyes looked troubled. "If the Chitauri return, and he has no way to defend her, or himself…"**_

"_**We shall see. But we should not interfere. It is his choice now, whether he will follow the right path to regain his memory. This is the chance I give to him."**_

* * *

_**P.S I drew the despcription for Niamh's 'moment' if you like from my own experiences. I wouldn't necessarily call them panic attacks, but I have had one or two panic attacks and they are highly unplesant. Apologies to anyone reading this who might have been a little offended by that description. **_

_**Working into the bridle - when a horse is being schooled, it ought to be working with its neck relaxed, its head in a vertical(ish) position and it should be using it's back end (hind legs, quarters and back) to provide the power for the movements. My horse is capbale of it, he just hates it. **_


	4. The Truth

_**This is a long one, so buckle up. Usual disclaimers apply.**_

* * *

The Sunday started off perfectly normally. I switched my alarm off twice, dragged myself from under my covers and threw open the curtains. Today was overcast, the sea a cold greenish-grey. The long grass and the trees in my (small) garden swayed languidly in the strong breeze that whipped up the waves beyond the cliffs into froth-capped hillocks.

Pulling on my thick socks and heavier jods, I clattered noisily downstairs, pulled on my boots and left the house to turn out and start on the stables. I was turning out Winter when I remembered my houseguest.

I almost panicked again, but more from the sense that I'd just banged rudely and noisily out of the house and woken him up than how I'd been feeling yesterday. Nevertheless I fed and turned out in a rather distracted state.

I needn't have worried. The house was still silent when I padded inside in nothing but my furry, heavyweight socks. For one wild, disorientating, (disappointing?) moment I thought that yesterday had been a bad dream and TODAY was Saturday, and I was still alone and undisturbed. But I noticed the coffee mugs left to drain by the sink – two, not one.

So yesterday really had happened. I still couldn't believe I'd said most of that to him.

Seized with sense of paranoia that he had left overnight, I tiptoed upstairs and peeped around the still ajar door into the darkened room beyond.

Pale as the moon against the black of his hair, Loki slept on, one arm thrown above his head, the other resting atop the covers.

Relief was my first emotion, however brief it may have been. I put it down to basic courtesy – sneaking out in the middle of the night would just have been rude. That, and he wouldn't have made it very far, not by himself. I'd had enough of pulling people out of ditches.

(So cold, Niamh, talking about manners and courtesy. You sound like your aunt.) And wasn't that a troubling thought.

In any case, there was no time to dwell on it. I remembered my mental list, took one last look at the sleeping man, and closed the door quietly.

* * *

He had slept fitfully, his dreams plagued with strange images. Images of fire, of bright blue light, of a man (himself?) dressed in a green cape and a helmet sporting two huge golden horns. A bright rainbow bridge. Images of a battle. Of death. Of a – thing – with two thumbs and a menacing voice that promised him pain beyond pain if he failed…Loki jerked awake, still breathing heavily, waiting for the panic to release his body where it tensed beneath the covers.

The morning was far advanced, if the light streaming around the edges of the curtains just above his head was anything to judge by. He sat up and pulled one of them back. Light streamed in and lit up the unfamiliar room. Once again he panicked for a moment, then recalled the events of yesterday. Being pulled from a ditch and brought here by a young woman with raven black hair, and a fringe that fell low over her eyes. A woman who had been unfailingly kind to him, despite her obvious fear of human company.

Her house seemed strangely quiet. Loki presumed she would be up early to see to the horses, but when he looked out of his window across to the stable yard he could see no signs of activity. He padded barefoot downstairs.

Niamh's kitchen was too clean to have seen much use. A grey stone floor surrounded by wooden surfaces (that were not, on closer inspection, actually wood), an island table in the centre. An old fashioned device covered in rings and knobs and a tall silver fridge. Loki knew she wouldn't have the time to keep it this clean.

He almost admired her, living alone in a house like this and running a yard, but she must work herself into the ground. It was just silly. She should really have someone in to do the cleaning if she wanted to concentrate on the yard.

There was a note pinned to the fridge with a wood carving (this one real) of a horseshoe. Loki attempted to pull it off, but the carving slid with it, stuck to the fridge in some fashion. He pulled on the horseshoe. It came away cleanly and the note fluttered to the floor. _How odd…_There was nothing on the back save a small circle of dark, heavy material. Loki pressed it back to the fridge, and it almost jumped out of his fingers to reattach itself.

Loki chuckled to himself, pulled it off again, then let it go. It snapped back into place. He amused himself like this for fully ten minutes before remembering the note that had fallen from the fridge. He picked it up.

_**Loki – I'm sorry about yesterday. I freaked out a bit. Think it's probably best if you stay here. **_

_**Therefore gone out to get supplies and clothes for you. Guessing sizes. **_

_**And be careful of some of the horses if you want to explore. Soiree - he's the bay in the field with my chestnut - bites. Hard. **_

_**DON'T BREAK ANYTHING.**_

_**Niamh. **_

That would explain the quiet.

There was a rush, through his whole body, of an emotion he could only describe as relief. She had given him permission to explore, probably in recompense for yesterday's panicked outburst. But more than that, she wanted him to stay. Loki felt a sense of privilege.

Now he was determined not to cross any more lines with her. He had no desire to be abandoned. Cast out. He was plagued with a nasty feeling that it had happened before.

The devices ranged around the kitchen were unfamiliar, apart from the fridge which he recognised as simply being a larger version of the 'mini fridge' in the Yardhouse office. Big fridge, mini fridge. It was a useful concept.

The cooker, however, was a different matter. It was gas (though he wasn't to know this) and Loki was fiddling with the buttons when he inadvertently switched it on to full power and flames sprung out of the hob. He leapt back with a yelp before his hair could meet a fiery end.

_Oh no, have I broken it?_ Niamh's words leapt out at him. _**DON'T BREAK ANYTHING**__._ _Is this supposed to happen? Or did it just blow up?_ Loki searched for something to put the fire out with – seeing nothing (Niamh kept her 'tea towels' in a drawer and he couldn't recall which one), he gingerly reached out and twisted the knob back. The flames went out. Loki breathed an internal sigh of relief. _Alright, maybe that is supposed to happen._

He was equally stumped by the large square box with a transparent window on the front. By pressing a switch the door jumped open, but none of the buttons seemed to have any effect. After his incident with the cooker however, Loki was loathe to start experimenting.

Instead he switched on the kettle and made himself a coffee. It took him a couple of goes to find a mug and the little pot full of small brown granules, and a couple more goes to find the sugar but in the end he managed to pull it together without help. He liked the strong taste, the bitterness dampened somewhat by the sweetness of the sugar, and the way it caused him to think clearly. It did nothing for his amnesia, but it sharpened him a little, useful when making this new world make sense.

_This new world. _As opposed to his home world.

He had seen in Niamh's face that she didn't believe him, but really, what other explanation was there? What was this world, so closed-minded and set in their ways? How did they function, not considering the possibility of a wider universe than the one they created for themselves?

True, he had only met Niamh, so far. She had carved out this niche for herself and seemed to enjoy living as a recluse, with no-one but her and her horses. Surely the whole race could not be like this, living independently of one another. They would run mad. He didn't know how Niamh had not.

Ah, but watching her ride! The horse completely compliant between her hands – a partnership, not an act of submission. A call and response, a silent conversation. And they had flown. Not a foot out of place.

The sight had stirred something in him. A recollection, yes, of riding with a group of people – friends, comrades in arms – out across a bridge made of light and colours that flashed beneath their mounts' hooves, but also something else. An emotion he couldn't name.

So, feelings of familiarity came with actions that he had performed, or seen performed before. Niamh riding was one. He wondered if getting into the saddle himself would trigger anything more. Loki decided to gain her trust a little more before asking something like that of her.

His gaze drifted across to the red brick of the Yardhouse, facing the kitchen windows. Niamh had given him permission to go exploring, and he ran less chance of breaking things outside. Although, if he annoyed her horses he doubted he would enjoy the verbal thrashing.

* * *

The yard was empty as he stepped through the back office door in his borrowed 'wellies' and onto the concrete. Only one horse greeted him over their doors, a silver youngster that snickered at him. The whole place was eerily empty. Loki reasoned they must all be out in their paddocks, and, sure enough, walking through the wide archway at the other end of the yard, he came to a wide expanse of grassy fields stretching down to the edge of the cliff. There were more fields than there were horses, and the grass ran rampant. She must cut some of them for winter hay. The chill, salty wind whistled in from the sea and made him shiver beneath the blue coat he'd stolen from behind the office door.

Two pretty grey mares inhabited the field closest to him. One, with brown flecks all over her coat, walked over to him and sniffed the area at his hip, hoping for treats. He chuckled.

"I apologise, fair maiden," he said, "but I have no pockets to hide anything in." The horse snorted once, but nuzzled his elbow to show he was forgiven. The second grey mare butted in for her share of attention. There was no ulterior motive to it – just pure affection.

A slight lump rose to his throat as he petted them. He swallowed it. This was nothing to cry over – was it? Perhaps it was the amnesia, but he could not sense that he had ever been shown this amount of untainted affection.

The beautiful, lithe dark bay and Niamh's tall orange (chestnut?) mare in the next field paid him little attention, but the larger horse she had ridden yesterday – Cavalier, Loki remembered her saying – in the next paddock wandered over curiously, recognising his scent. He nudged at his arm.

"Good morning," Loki greeted him in return.

The stocky black on the other side of the grassy track whinnied and bucked his way down the fenceline, setting off the other bay, the chestnut mare, the black and Cavalier himself. The grey mares watched the others play with matching looks of disdain.

Loki couldn't help laughing as he watched them run. Their utter freedom seemed to set something loose in his chest. Something he had been repressing for a long time. It was gone before he could identify it, leaving him feeling somewhat looser. _Odd._

He looked at these horses, Niamh's life. He wondered how they all came to her, what they had been before. From listening to her talk and the books in her office, it was not difficult to work out that the horses she kept on this farm had all had problems in the past. Watching them now, it was hard to see.

All except one, in the far field.

* * *

This horse, a chestnut a little smaller than the other, watched the proceedings with a look of deep suspicion. She stood, tucked against the far fence, her tail clamped between her legs, her whole body the picture of nervous tension.

What was this? The one anomaly in this haven for horses? Loki drew closer, his curiosity aroused. Why was this one in a corner, out of the way, ignored? He doubted Niamh would do anything of the sort to any horse.

As he approached, the horse noticed him. Her whole body tensed further, her ears stood alert. Her coat was scruffy, pale mane and tail full of burrs and tangles. There were several large, welt-like marks across her back and rear. She looked young, but her eyes were ancient. Full of fear.

They stayed there, man and horse, transfixed by one another.

"That's Mirage."

Loki started, and the spell was broken. The horse – Mirage – wheeled and trotted away to the far end, tail held high.

Loki turned to see Niamh, hands in her coat pockets. "You move quietly."

She smiled wanly. "Mirage is only three, she's been here three months. She was beaten for most of her life."

Loki was horrified, looking again at the welts. "Why would anyone want to do that?"

"From what I can gather, her old owners were after a biddable youngster for their daughter." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Instead, they got Mirage. She was bold and stubborn and…well, they didn't like that. So they tried to beat her into submission. Fortunately the local animal charity stepped in, and because their horse sanctuary is full they loaned her to me to see if I could do anything."

"Have you?"

A look of pain flashed across Niamh's features as she leant on the fence, staring into the field. "I can't catch her; I can't even get near her. She just runs and runs and then she turns and lashes out." He voice cracked slightly. "I've tried everything. She's just shut herself away. I should call the charity, I should say there's nothing I can do. Sometimes I wonder why she's still here. I don't know. I just won't give up hope. Stupid, sentimental fool that I am."

There was a faraway look in her eyes as she watched the mare prance around the top of her field before falling to graze in snatches, all the time keeping one eye on the two people at the fence. Loki wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that Mirage would be okay, she would think of something. But he didn't know how. She'd fallen back into her own world, and he could not reach her.

Eventually, she rose. "Come on. I've got some stuff for you to try back at the house."

Loki followed her back to the yard, but glanced back one last time at the damaged, frightened horse teetering on the cliff edge.

* * *

The kitchen now seemed filled with bags. Niamh had pulled out all the stops. Three pairs of trousers of a coarse, blue material and a fourth, heavier pair in dark green. Some fairly cheap shirts, some with buttons, some without. Socks galore (Loki was especially pleased about this – his feet were becoming very cold). A padded jacket in forest green. A pair of generic, black, lace-up shoes, and best of all a tall pair of what Niamh termed 'yard boots.'

"So you can give me a hand rather than sitting around getting bored," said Niamh. "Those wellies aren't the best fit."

Loki, going through another bag, found a packet of 'undershorts.' "What are these for?"

Niamh blushed. It was an endearing sight. "They, um…they go underneath the trousers. You know." She bit her lip and turned away. Loki repressed a snigger, then reminded himself he shouldn't laugh at her discomfort.

She continued. "I've completely guessed at sizes, so I'd try on all of those and if it doesn't fit we can get them exchanged."

Loki nodded, draping the garments over one arm. "These will more than suffice, thank you."

She went pink again. "Can't have you wandering around in those things forever. Keep something on if it fits, give me those" – she indicated his current attire – "and I'll put them in my wash this evening."

Watching her try and take care of him made her seem almost vulnerable. It was still painfully obvious that she didn't enjoy this. Yet still she tried.

It occurred to him suddenly that she was just as scared of him as Mirage was of her. He would have to do something to change that.

He came to himself suddenly and realised he was still standing in the kitchen staring at the woman. She was staring back (in some confusion? Or was there something more?). "You aren't getting changed in here…"

"Right. Indeed. Ah…" He took the hint and scurried away upstairs before the sudden tension in the room caused one of them to snap.

* * *

As soon as he was gone I buried my head in my hands.

(I can't tell him_._)

Oh, I went into town with every intention of Internet searching his name. I could do it at home, but my internet connection is clanky and outdated simply because I've never bothered much with it.

But that would come later. I parked my little Nissan in the town centre and went into the small second hand bookstore just across the street.

Barnford is a quaint little town a few miles inland, very cliché picture postcard. Cream stone houses, bright spring hanging baskets and old, uneven cobblestone that's murder on the suspension. In the summer it becomes my idea of Hell - full of tourists and holiday makers come down from the nearby caravan park or one of the local self-catering cottages, passing through on their way to the seafront, searching for memorabilia, postcards and spare suntan lotion. There isn't a moment's peace and quiet, and the place thrives on it. But there are a few places I actually like, this small, shabby bookstore being one of them. Even though I don't have much time or enthusiasm for reading I bought many of my Monty Roberts and Pat Parelli books here. The owner knows me on sight and is a man of few words, which suits me fine.

Today though, instead of heading straight to the second floor, which houses the Special Interests section, I browsed through the cookery shelves, searching for something simple, something easy. Something someone who's hardly so much as boiled an egg could do…

For a girl who exists on coffee, sandwiches, salads and ready meals, it was like a minefield. Eventually I found one from about 1950, containing a few simple pastry recipes and another from a little later. The store owner kept a perfectly straight face.

Next it was the local charity shops to try and find Loki some clothes. I felt a little guilty about this but the only other clothes shop in town is specialist country clothing which I highly doubted would suit him. Picturing him in jodhpurs only made me blush.

That was awkward, because I never blush.

To me, the clothing in charity shops always emits a sense of being pre-owned and not necessarily loved. Loki wouldn't know the difference, with any luck.

I browsed through the racks of men's trousers and jeans. I know almost nothing about sizes, especially when it comes to men, so I improvised and pulled a few pairs off the rack in different sizes, held them up to the mirror and transposed Loki onto them in my mind. To do that I had to really think about his lean yet strong body, long legs giving him a purposeful stride, narrow waist…

(Niamh, CONCENTRATE. What the hell are you playing at?)

Eventually he ended up with three pairs of jeans and some dark green trousers which would be nice for stable work, all from different places. I picked out a few medium size shirts and t-shirts as well, and as an afterthought, nipped into the country clothing store after all and bought him some socks, boots and a proper jacket. Most of it was in green. For some reason I kept thinking about those bloody eyes of his.

These till assistants were not as subtle as the man in the bookstore. They had noticed I was female and buying men's clothing, and their curious looks followed me out onto the street, burning a hole in my back. For the first time in my life, I had to remind myself that I didn't care.

Weighed down with shopping, I had to take a break and went to sit in my car with a flask of coffee to flick through the recipes while I calmed down a little.

Then it was to the small library, a long, low brick building on the fringes of the town centre. I endured the hawk-like stare of the head librarian, who had pinched lips and hair pulled aggressively back from her face, while I signed my name next to the computer on the sheet. The peace and quiet was a blessing after my busy morning and I settled in quickly.

I put my fingers on the keyboard and typed one word into the search engine.

_Loki._

* * *

I was expecting – maybe 'anticipating' is a better word – a blank screen with some alternative spelling suggestions. Instead, to my astonishment, I got around 44,000 hits. The top one was a website of Norse Mythology.

_Loki (Loke) is the Norse God of Mischief and an agent of chaos. It is said that at the time of Ragnarok (the doom of the gods), Loki will lead the armies of the enemies of Heaven. _

I sat back and stared. (Bloody hell, his parents really did have a funny taste in baby names.) I read further.

Loki was the Trickster, the silvertongue. He was a shapeshifter and made mischief for his own amusement.

Some of the pranks listed on the sites were hilarious, such as the tale of how he and his foster brother Thor dressed as women in order to halt the wedding of Freja to the frost giant Thyrm. I particularly enjoyed the story of the birth of Sleipnir, the eight legged horse (it would certainly explain why Loki was so happy around the horses).

Some of them were darker, however, like the way he tricked Hoder, brother of the wise god Balder, into killing him with a mistletoe arrow, because it was the only living thing that had not sworn never to harm him. Loki was by no means a harmless prankster; I figured gods rarely were.

Further down the results page, however, was a news site. Below that, a few conspiracy theories. (What in the world have they got to do with Loki?)Intrigued, I clicked them.

(Afterwards I almost wished I hadn't.)

* * *

I recalled the events of last summer in New York – who didn't? It was huge news for almost two months – an honest-to-god alien attack. Apparently fought off by six people (Oh please.) I hadn't given it a lot of thought. It didn't touch my world.

This site was an archive of news reports.

_The authorities have so far confirmed that this was an extraterrestrial attack, led by a man known only as 'Loki.' Loki is also the name of the trickster god in Norse mythology._

(What?)

_ The city has commended the actions of the group known as 'The Avengers,' without whom millions more might have been lost. _

There was also a list of names. Iron Man (who even I recognised), the alter ego of billionaire Tony Stark. Captain America, a comic book hero I remembered Roy talking about sometimes. The Hulk, who seemed to be big and green and perpetually cross. Two anonymous assassins. And Thor. The God of Thunder.

(Seriously? Gods and deities actually exist?)This was getting stranger by the minute.

There were some pictures, none of any good quality and most occurring after the aliens had left. Been destroyed (Whatever.) Smashed cars, burnt-out buildings, everywhere rubble and crashed alien ships that looked more like the jet-skis kids ride down the seafront every summer. But there was one that had been recorded by CCTV during the battle and had miraculously survived. (The company must have made a mint selling it to the papers.) It was a rooftop camera and it had caught some of the ships in flight, led by a man wearing a long green cape and a fantastically ridiculous pair of golden horns on his helmet.

I had to squint to see it properly but I knew that profile. I had been thinking about it all day – in the context of buying clothes, of course. _It can't be…no…_

I enlarged the screen. It did little for the quality but I got a good close-up. It was, there was no trying to deny it…it was my Loki.

The Loki I'd found in a ditch yesterday morning.

(No. No no no no no, I did not let public enemy number one into my house. Nope…)

Incredulous, my brain in denial, I read on. The alien force, led by 'Loki' had effectively destroyed most of the island of Manhattan before the 'Avengers' had closed off their entrance route. A portal to the other side of space.

There was also a link to a German article that I couldn't understand about an incident in Stuttgart with a slightly better picture. This time there was no denying it. The only thing I didn't recognise were the cold and emotionless eyes. So far removed from his warm, green orbs.

I sat back in my chair, head aching. It was beyond belief. It was too sci-fi film, too comic book. (Stuff like this just doesn't happen. Not to me.)

* * *

I bolted, ignoring the indignant stare of the head librarian as I blew past and out into the cool spring air. I leant on the nearest lamppost and tried to breathe.

"He doesn't know," I told myself quietly. "He doesn't remember."

(Doesn't he? A shining city, a brother, a mother and father…different worlds…his obvious bad dream, last night.)

It defied explanation, but just when it made least sense, I believed what he was saying.

I decided I'd lost it, went back to my car and drove home.

* * *

Seeing Loki there, out by the horses, watching them run, struck me cold, but not with fear. With a strange kind of sorrow.

I believed he'd truly lost his memory. But it was more than that. His memories had been taken for a reason, and if he was the root of the myth of 'Loki', the Norse legend…who knew?

(Can you wipe that out? Can you ever truly be the same after something like that?)

There was an expression of intense happiness on his face as my horses bucked their way around their paddocks. Was this his true face? Or was the iron expression I had seen in the photograph the real Loki? The two seemed so far removed from themselves I couldn't believe it was the same man. But as I already knew, everyone has hidden depths.

I wanted to walk away. To say no. Once again, I could. But I couldn't yesterday and I wouldn't today.

I'm in the business of second chances after all.

I made sure my face gave nothing away as I followed him down the grassy track towards Mirage. (Ah, Mirage…)

I stood and watched. They seemed transfixed by each other. (They'd make a good pair), I thought wryly.

It occurred to me that I knew more about him now than he did. Wasn't that a strange thought.

I wouldn't tell him, I decided. He wouldn't believe me. Hell, he wouldn't want to believe me. _I _didn't want to believe me.

(When did you get so sympathetic towards another living being that doesn't have four legs and a tail?)

I strode towards him across the grass.

* * *

_**I have taken a lot of artistic liberties here, I freely admit.**_

_**I also regret nothing - I had this beautiful image of Loki just fiddling with stuff.** _

**_Reviews are love. They also get you updates faster and I know you people love updates. _**


	5. The Beginning

**_I feel like I ought to apologise for the slow build of this fic and the slow rate of updates. They are coming, it's a case of working updating around my shitload of Uni work. All you first years - you got it easy. _**

**_Anyway, this is chapter five. Reviews are love, remember. _**

**_Major spoilers if you haven't seen Thor or The Avengers. Also warnings for domesticity and a large amount of cursing in the latter half. It's called for. Kind of. _**

* * *

I let him borrow a wheelbarrow and a fork and give me a hand with the mucking out after lunch (nothing more ambitious than chicken soup).

His clothes all fitted, which was a relief. I refused to admit I liked the way the green trousers hugged his figure, and the t-shirt beneath his jacket made his hair look all the more ink black.

Anyway, the man was willing to learn. I could get behind that. He genuinely wanted to help out.

I was still working on the assumption that I'd lost it, but I couldn't bring myself to care. (Just another rescue case. Just another job.)

So I told myself.

I've sorted out some frankly menacing horses in my time – once I found the root of the problem it all became much easier. The fact that he was human(ish) should have made it easier – the horses couldn't speak, whereas Loki could. Trouble was, he couldn't remember the root cause.

I was hoping to jog that memory. I thought the horses might help.

"No great secret to it. Any dirty straw, you chuck in the barrow. Pile the rest up around the sides. Start on that side and we'll work our way around and meet in the middle. Got it?"

Loki gave the whole set-up a dubious look. "Got it."

"The muck heap is around there when you need to empty the barrow." I pointed out and under the arches and away to the right. "Now scat. I'll deal with straw later."

I started with Hatty, the first stable on the left side. In between the forkfuls of dirty straw I chanced glances across the yard. The living root of a Norse legend, mucking out a stable. Three days ago if anyone had told me this would happen I'd have said they were mad, and wasn't that an odd thought.

(Isn't it odd how life changes us? How days can become extraordinary just by chance…)

(Too deep for this early in the afternoon, Niamh.)

* * *

Loki was enjoying himself. Once one got the hang of separating the dirty straw from the clean, the job became very simple. But the smell!

He paused halfway through his second stable and stuck his head through the door to catch a breath of fresh, untainted air. The stench was sharp and unfamiliar. And very strong.

Loki realised he must not have had much to do with any stable work – another clue to his identity. A person of high standing, then. Diplomat?

"_You are our son, Loki."_

The voice was clear, and definitely inside his head. And the scene before his eyes was not of a red-brick stable yard, but of a room, high vaulted ceilings and gold, gold everywhere. There was a golden dome that moved and shimmered over the man lying in the bed.

"_He kept the truth from you so you would never feel different. You are our son, Loki"_

There were other images too. A stark realm of ice, and snow, and rock. A fierce battle. Himself, conjuring daggers out of nowhere. And a blue hand seizing his arm.

Watching as chips of pure magic fell from it and rendered it blue as the others.

_Jotun skin. Cold. Merciless. Warlike. Murderer. Monster. _

_I kill the giant without a second thought, but cannot take my eyes from my skin as it blushes back to my usual pale tones. But the blue tint is permanently etched into my mind. _

'_Who am I? What am I?'_

And a darkened room. The same man, awake this time, single eye sad.

"_I thought that we could, one day, bring about an alliance. Through you. But those plans now no longer matter."_

"_So I am nothing more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me? You could have told me who I was from the beginning, why didn't you?"_

_The man (Odin) is breathing hard. He's sinking to his knees, but I'm too incensed to care. Righteous anger, betrayal, denial – they battle within me._

"_You know it all makes sense, now! Why you favoured Thor, all these years, because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!"_

Darkness again. A cliff face.

"_I remember a shadow. Living in the shade of your greatness, I who was, and should be king!"_

It was like a kick. Loki collapsed, breathing hard, against the half door.

_So I am a prince. Or at least was. A prince forgotten, a prince…betrayed? No. Lied to, yes…for the right reasons? But why? Why take these memories from me? _

_Unless there is more. How much more? What - ?_

His headache was back. He slid to the floor, dazed, disorientated.

Niamh was once again standing over him.

* * *

My fork clattered dully into the big barrow as I moved on. Sunday is my day for working with Quickie so he was still in his stall. I tied him to one of the rings screwed into the side of the fountain and let him nose at the water, scudded by the breeze that swept stray straw across the yard. The fountain is the only original piece of architecture on the yard I kept, aside from the stables. It's useful, when it comes to tying up and watering after a ride, but the ornamental garden that used to sit around it was just taking it five steps too far in my opinion.

I panicked when I saw Loki go down. (Shit, is he having a fit?) I sprinted across the yard.

He looked paler than usual, eyes wide. He had seen something. A memory, come back perhaps?

"What happened? Are you okay?" I crouched down beside him, took his arm to steady him. Again, frightened green eyes met mine.

"I am definitely an alien," he said.

"Yeah, we've established that. Nobody drinks coffee like you do."

To my surprise, he chuckled, and his fright vanished for a second. "Indeed."

Unsteadily he began to climb to his feet.

"Don't you dare," I said. "You stay down there, I don't want you keeling over and whacking your head."

He slumped back down. "I saw my heritage. We were…my friends, my brother and I…we were fighting a group of giants. Frost Giants. Jotuns…Don't ask me how I know all this, it's coming to me as I speak." He addressed the concrete.

I recognised the name. The Loki from my research had originally been a jotun, adopted into Odin's family.

"My skin turned blue…when one touched me." His breathing was coming faster. "Niamh, the Frost Giants are a race of…I was raised to believe they were monsters. Warlike, aggressive, merciless. And then I discover I _am _one and everything I had been told about myself was a lie. There was a man. Asleep, I think. The woman…my adoptive mother. She said she kept the truth about my true birth from me so I would not feel different." He huffed derisively.

What the hell do you say to something like that?

"So…what does this mean?"

"It means I know why my parents…they always favoured my older brother. Odin wouldn't…he wouldn't want a…someone like me…inheriting his throne. It would always have been Thor."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"The throne goes to the firstborn anyway, it was extremely fair. I just wish he'd _told_ me." Loki's voice cracked. "I can understand why they would lie to me but I still had the right to know…didn't I?"

My mind drifted back to one particular childhood incident. My father threw house parties at his "country estate" over the summer that boiled down to displays of "my share price/bank account is bigger than yours." Edina and I were expected to attend, dressed in our best and prepared to be showcased by Mum. I'd skipped out on one aged thirteen and gone riding instead. When I'd returned, my aunt had been lying in wait and had pounced with a long lecture about my expectations.

"_One thing you must learn, Niamh, is a girl of your station is expected to perform certain functions for the good of her family and their situation. If one daughter is exempt from these functions, how do you think that makes us look?"_

"_I don't know. I don't care. I hate these dresses, I hate these parties. All they want to do is look at me, like a china doll."_

"_Exactly, Niamh. You must behave in a certain way, look a certain fashion. It is the only way to maintain our credibility. You are a peer's granddaughter. You will live up to your expectations in the future, or face the consequences."_

_My mother stood in the background and nodded vigorously. My sister stood impassive. The usual tribunal, with my aunt standing as judge and jury. _

"_Your stable privileges shall be revoked for the next three weeks. And let this be an end to your irresponsible behaviour."_

I remember thinking, how is wanting to go riding rather than stand around in a skirt irresponsible? How is wanting to be who I am wrong?

* * *

"Yes, of course but...I don't know. To me it sounds like you grew up comfortable with who you were and what was expected of you. I…I didn't"

"Why not?"

"I didn't live up to their expectations. I …I was like you, I had a privileged upbringing; the difference was my family – my aunt in particular - never allowed me to forget who I was supposed to be and what they expected from me." I sat crossed-legged on the concrete in front of him. "Edina, my sister, was the credit. I was a disappointment. I _was _different and I knew it and was always reminded of it. It's not always pleasant."

I don't tell anyone that, but I sensed Loki needed to hear it.

He was staring at me.

"You condone, then, what they did?"

"No, no…but I highly doubt they would have treated you any differently if they had told you. They would still have welcomed you into their family." I tucked my hair nervously behind my ear.

"Yours didn't."

"Mine tried. Don't you get it? I didn't want to be a part of it. You did. Maybe they just…made a bad call."

(Stop talking, you can't give advice, you don't even talk to the greengrocer on Saturdays.) I continued fiddling with my hair.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It seems you and I had very different upbringings."

"I think you and I had very different parents."

I realised I was still holding his arm as we both lapsed into silent thought. I didn't, however, let go.

* * *

It felt like hours later when I broke the silence. "Do you think you can finish?"

Loki nodded. "My headache has gone."

We finished the mucking out in silence.

* * *

Quickie was in one of his playful moods. He's an iron grey warmblood I've had from about a year old and a project I've always wanted. He's all legs and no balance at the moment. I've been introducing him to trotting poles to get him thinking about where he's putting his feet. That afternoon I spread them out in a line, five of them around three feet apart and led him over them, first at a walk, then at a trot. He snorted, pretending to be unsettled by these strange, bright things that stretched out in front of him, then tried to jump over them rather than walk. He pranced with his tail held high, straining at his lead rope and I couldn't help but laugh.

Loki watched from the middle of the school this time. "Is he generally like this?"

"Oh yes. He's only a baby." Quickie finally calmed down and walked quietly over the poles, only tripping over one, and not his own feet. That was an improvement.

"Why 'Quickie'?"

"His full name is Jubilee Hill Quicksilver, which is a bit of a mouthful, so he's just Quickie to me." I patted him fondly as he searched my pockets.

Idly I thought of the story of Sleipnir. I wondered if it was really true. I wondered what Loki would say to that.

Quickie turned out to be quite accepting of Loki, sniffing everything from his new boots to his hair. Loki closed his eyes as the baby's soft lips mouthed at the black strands.

"That tickles."

"It's a sign of affection, don't knock it."

He opened one eye. "I have no intention of knocking anything."

"It's another figure of speech." Except this time I didn't know if he was simply being sarcastic.

I continued working with Quickie until he was prancing over the poles.

Emerald green eyes were locked onto my back.

* * *

"Crap. Crap crap crap crap CRAP…"

For the first time in a (very) long time, I hadn't got a clue what I was doing. I'd read twice through the recipe for a simple Bolognese sauce – it seemed easy enough. Stick the ingredients in and go. Famous last words.

The recipe called for one large onion 'browned' in olive oil. I'd left the oil on the heat while I tried to chop up an onion. Half the onion was now on the floor and the oil had started spitting at me. To add insult to injury, the knife slipped, slicing open my finger.

"Shit." I rummaged for a plaster in the drawer with one hand while gathering the remains of the onion up with the other. Of course, they weren't there. That would have been far too easy.

I continued cursing as I swept the onion off the floor, stuck it in a bowl and rinsed it off under the tap. I'd only bought the one. Nobody said slicing it up was going to be this hard.

The oil spat at me again. It was starting to smoke heavily. (Oh shit.) I turned off the heat on the antique gas cooker and ran my sore fingers through my hair. I knew there was a reason I cooked ready meals as opposed to actually making things. The stress was unbelievable.

"What are you trying to do?" Loki stood in the doorway, barefoot and back in his (now clean) pyjamas, skin a healthy pink from the hot water of the shower.

"Cooking…in theory." I growled and leaned my elbows on the island in the centre of the kitchen. "Fuck, can't even chop the buggering onion, and I've just sliced open my fucking finger and the bloody plasters aren't in the goddamn drawer."

Loki raised his eyebrows. "Impressive."

"Are you being-!"

"The expletives. I don't think I've ever met someone who can swear that much in one sentence."

"Normally I don't, but I hate this bloody onion!"

Loki had found the recipe book. "Are you attempting to cook this for me?"

"Er…" (Bugger, gone crimson again), "I don't think it's fair to make you live off ready meals and salad."

Loki was watching me. Despite my crimson cheeks I held his gaze once again. This time I think something – unexpected - jumped between us.

(Niamh, you're going mad.)

"That's really...that's a lovely gesture. But you really can't cook, can you?"

"I've never tried to before, ever."

Loki smiled. "Two head are always better than one." He took the raggedly sliced onion out of the sink, added it to the pile on the chopping bored and began chopping almost at random.

"Don't you dare, I should be-"

"Niamh. Just…start measuring the meat out."

I knew what he was trying to say. "Nimah, you need help, you cannot cook. Accept the assistance before you burn your house down."

I huffed. (In my own house.) "Fine. Fine…"

Astonishingly, we fell easily into a team. Loki handled the technical stuff like order of ingredients and working out when we were ready to add the next lot. I opened tins, measured amounts (inexpertly), and kept an eye on the time. Soon the kitchen was full of a thick, mouth-watering smell that made my stomach cry out for food.

I managed to boil the pasta just fine. It shouldn't have felt like such a major achievement (I'm 25, bugger it all.)

We served it up and sat on stools around the island. I nearly cursed again as I ate the first forkful. "Oh, that is a damn sight better than shop-bought."

Loki smiled, went slightly pink, and held up the glass of mid-range wine I'd bought on a whim while in town that morning. "To the chefs."

I responded, clinking my own glass against his. "Chef, singular. You can take the credit."

"Oh, thank you," he responded. I shrugged and took another bite, savouring the flavours in my mouth, nothing I'd had the desire to experience in years.

* * *

"You're not half bad at this, you know. Following recipes," I remarked.

"It's like a spell, or a chemical formula. Easy enough to follow along."

(And now he's talking about spells. Good thing?)

"Spells?"

"I think so." He looked at me over the faux wooden table-top. "Why? Don't you have magic here?"

"We have self-proclaimed witches, and people who claim to be able to do magic. Magicians. They're more like illusionists. As for the witches, God only knows what they believe they can do. Load of bullshit if you ask me," I muttered, winding a piece of sauce-covered spaghetti around my fork and studying it pensively. "Why spells and magic all of a sudden?"

Loki prodded the remains of his supper, brooding. "It's like when I see you ride. I get a sense of familiarity I've come to associate with…something from my past. The word 'spell' enters my mind when I read the recipes. I can remember working magic. It's something that's common on…Asgard"

I raised one eyebrow. "Don't start working any around me. I doubt the horses will thank you for it."

He chuckled. "Just because I say I can does not mean I can recall how. You're fairly safe."

"That's a relief." Magic would just be one step too far at this point.

His awareness seemed to be coming back faster than his memories. I pointed this out.

Loki nodded. "Makes me wonder…why that is. Why they let me know, but not remember."

I knew exactly why, but remained silent.

Trouble was, I was having a really hard time thinking of him as a being from another world. He just seemed so…normal, apart from the whole amnesia issue. His clear family issues were definitely something I could relate to.

"I don't feel like a bad person," he added, as though he could read my mind.

"When did I ever say you were?"

We lapsed into silence as we cleared our plates. Damn, the stuff was good.

"Why can't you cook? Did nobody ever teach you?" Loki asked eventually, over a second glass of wine.

I smiled wryly into my (now empty) plate, and tucked my hair back behind my ear. "Even if I had learnt, or wanted to learn…well, I live by myself, I have a very busy lifestyle, I don't have the time or the energy to cook. No call for it. Nobody to cook for…till now."

Recalling the sense of camaderie and teamwork I'd felt as we cooked this, I was struck with a sudden feeling of loneliness. It was frightening.

I had company. I had _help._ It was a weight off my shoulders. Until that moment I hadn't realised how bone tired I was. I already appreciated Loki's help, and wasn't that a weird thought.

* * *

Once we'd finished I would have thrown everything into the dishwasher and let it do the work had not Loki read the underside of the saucepans and the warning 'Not Dishwasher Friendly.' He set to running the water to wash it up by hand.

(Good thing one of us is paying attention.) I did not want to have to replace my dishwasher. Or saucepans. They would be seeing a lot more use if Loki and I had anything to do with it.

"It needs to be hotter than that," I said, testing the basin-full and turning up the hot tap. Loki upturned the washing-up liquid bottle and let the gloopy substance flow and froth into the water. He let out a gleeful chuckle. "What sort of magic is this?"

"I don't know, it just makes bubbles and gets dishes clean. Don't use up all of it." I stacked the plates and cutlery in the dishwasher along with our coffee mugs and banged the door closed. "Do you want to wash, then?"

Loki was already wrist-deep in the suds. I rolled my eyes, grabbed a tea towel from the drawer and swatted him with it. "Get on with it, you big kid."

How much cleaning Loki in fact did I'm not too sure, but he seemed to be having fun with the froth so I left him to it and concentrated on the drying.

I bent down to put one of the pots away in the cupboard, and as I rose something slid down my hair. Something very wet and foamy. I noticed his barely contained humour on the other side of the sink and realised Loki had balanced a lot of soap suds on top of my head and waited for me to stand up and tip them over.

I spluttered and shook the foam out of my eyes. "Right. That's how we're going to play this, is it?" I spoke slyly.

Loki's grin widened, sensing my challenge. Very deliberately I picked up a handful of suds and attacked his head with them. He retaliated by flicking more into my face.

The resulting battle was epic.

I collapsed against the island who knows how long later, laughter warring with lack of breath and covered in soap suds. "Okay, fine, you win!"

Loki, as soaked and soapy as I was, held both hands in the air and gave a mock bow. I snorted again.

"I am Loki, of Asgard!" he declared. "And I am –

(_burdened with glorious purpose?)_

- victorious!"

I dissolved into another fit of laughter. After a moment, Loki joined me. His black hair was dotted with puffs of white froth and his clothes were soaked through, clinging to his thin shoulders and waistline.

I hadn't laughed this hard since…since I couldn't remember. Years. Loki had pulled this fit out of me in two days.

And wasn't that a strange thought.


	6. Cavalier and Mirage

_**Double update for you. Enjoy, faithful readers =D**_

* * *

Cavalier's owner came for him in the morning.

I knew it was going to happen, but I felt sad as I cleared out his stable and groomed him that morning. So many horses have passed through this yard, I get somewhat used to waving them goodbye, off to a better life in most cases. But every now and again comes a horse with a special personality that really touches my heart. These were always the hardest to let go. Cavalier was one of them.

The day was still blustery, but the sun was more visible that it had been yesterday. I'd left Loki in charge of the rest of the mucking out, concentrating on smoothing down the horse's black mane, straightening his tail and pulling a shine out of his dark bay coat.

Yes, I have three horses of my own, but Cavalier was one charge I wanted to spend a last bit of time with before he left. To become a highly successful showjumper no doubt.

"He's a fine animal." A testament to Loki's silent walk, not even Cavalier had noticed him approach. Or maybe he had, and simply wasn't bothered.

"He is that…" I stroked his neck.

"I heard a car - is that what you call them? - pull up outside, I think they're here."

(Okay, that's damn good hearing.)

I put the brush I was holding back down on the edge of the fountain. Cavalier promptly knocked it into the water with resounding splash. I chuckled. Loki just smiled.

"I'll go out and see. Thanks…" I escaped to the Yardhouse in time to see the horse's young rider leap (and her mother clamber) out of their 4X4.

* * *

I fixed my 'professional face' on and approached them with a smile. "Hi, nice to see you again."

The girl, Chloe, was a bundle of excitement. "I can't believe he can finally come home!"

"Didn't stop nattering the whole way here," her mother chuckled, giving her charge an indulgent smile.

"Come through to the yard, he's waiting for you."

I gave a surreptitious glance around the yard for Loki, but he seemed to have vanished, probably into one of the stables, which suited me.

Fortunately, Chloe had eyes only for her horse. "Cav!"

The horse's head jerked up, ears alert, eyes wide, and he whinnied a greeting from his tether. She barrelled across the yard to his side.

I won't lie, I welled up a tad.

I turned at smiled at Mrs Fresca. "Shall we leave them to it?"

* * *

We left the girl and her horse to their reunion to have a cup of tea and settle up in the office. She skipped in a few minutes later. "He's so much better. He's not biting anymore."

"He's been a lovely horse," I replied. "You should find he's more biddable to ride as well. Less with the bolting off and jumping the paddock fence."

"That's a relief. He would've been on the main road next," said the mother.

"Do you want to ride…or are you going straight home?"

"Straight home. It's a two hour drive I'd like to get over with."

Chloe pouted a little, but grudgingly agreed.

I glanced again out the office window. Cavalier was still there, but Loki was still nowhere to be seen. His barrow still sat there, abandoned by Hatty's stable. (Where the hell are you?)

I also took a quick glance through the stables while I gathered up Cavalier's rugs, feed buckets, feed sacks. No Loki. I was a bit annoyed now, but I couldn't leave the Frescas on my yard to run off and find him.

So I oversaw Cavalier's prepping to go home. He had on his bulky navy blue travel boots, his royal blue fleece with the gold trim, his leather headcollar. With his deep, rich, bay coat and black mane and tail, he looked like the showjumper he was, a fine if big boned horse with a noble head and a thin, straight, dark tail. Tall and proud, arching his neck to nose at his young owner as she attached a poll guard to the top of his headcollar.

The yard was starting to feel a little crowded as I helped Mrs Fresca ferry his things into their 4X4, now parked just outside the smaller arch at the other end of the yard. And still Loki did not appear.

* * *

The time had finally come. We lowered the ramp and Chloe walked Cavalier up to it. After a hesitant first step he clattered up it happily. Chloe tied him up, then jumped out through the grooms door and turned back to me.

"Thank you so much for doing this for us. I can't tell you how much it means to me."

"Oh…really, it's nothing. It's my pleasure. He's really a lovely horse. He's got a lot of character. The trick is going to be directing that character to stop him from slipping back into his old habits."

"What can I do?"

"Try and ride him a little more, every day or every other day if you can. Give him some variety. Stop him from getting bored."

Chloe nodded, taking it all in. This kind of advice was much easier to give than Loki's family issues (and where the hell is the guy?)

"I plan to try and qualify for HOYS this year. We'll be working hard for that."

"Good. That's exactly what he needs. Something to think about."

Chloe nodded. "Still, thank you so much. Without you I wouldn't have had a hope. Now I think I might."

I went pink. "Oh…thank you. But, really…it's what I do."

"And you've done exceptionally well by the look of things." Mrs Fresca gave me a wide smile.

I smiled back. It was easier, I found. Normally I had to force every single one, and only just check myself from telling them to clear off quickly.

Maybe that was Loki's influence. Wasn't that an odd thought.

"Come on Chloe, let's get your champ home."

Chloe gave me one more massive grin and jumped into the front seat as her mother clambered in and started the engine. I checked around the trailer to make sure everything was secure. Cavaliers whicker echoed through the plastic and metal.

"You good boy," I said quietly. "Go and be marvellous."

The trailer reversed, then accelerated across the gravel towards the front gate. Cavalier's head stretched up and looked back towards me. I permitted myself a small wave. Normally I'm not so sentimental.

Then they were out of sight, and I turned back towards the yard. I reminded myself that Dawn's owner was coming this afternoon as well. That visit would be much less pleasant.

I'd worry about that later. Where the bloody hell was Loki?

* * *

Loki seemed to have abandoned his barrow in Hatty's stable and was nowhere to be found on the yard.

"Loki? Hey, Loki!"

All that answered me was the sea wind. The man had vanished into thin air.

In my mind there was only one other place he would be. I set off out towards the fields.

As I reached the beginning of the grassy track that stretched down towards the cliff edge, bordered by my fields, I saw something that I swear made my heart stop.

* * *

Loki had slid away quietly as Niamh had gone out to the front drive to greet the horses' owners. He thought that this was something she would rather do alone. It also avoided awkward questions.

His boots echoed under the archway as he stepped out to the fields. They were fabulous boots. Tough, still somewhat stiff from underuse, made of a smooth black material with laces up the side and a thick sole, but also light. Boots one could ride in as well as work in. He was reminded of other boots, heavier clothes that were more like armour. Those clothes had been made to fit – it didn't make them any more comfortable, but he was used to them. _I could certainly get used to these_.

The wind was strong, whipping the lush spring grass into rippling waves across the cliff top. The horses did not seem bothered by it, though it whipped up their manes and tails and cut through Loki's green coat. The two grey mares were grazing close together at the bottom of their field. Bridie and Soiree were squabbling over the water trough. The black gelding – Winter, Niamh had said - was nosing at the yearling 'Quickie' over the fence. Mirage stood at the far side of her field, staring out to sea, head and ears low. A rare moment of relaxation, not dejection.

Loki was largely ignored by the horses in the fields as he passed between them, his feet moving of their own accord as he walked down the cliff top towards the battered young horse as through drawn by an invisible thread. She turned her attention towards him, her superior senses picking up on his presence before he was even halfway down the track.

The wind still whipped at them, but gradually, it ceased to matter.

He stood at the gate and waited, holding the gaze of the abused horse as he had yesterday.

Then, incredibly, she extended her neck and took a step towards him on one delicate, pale hoof. Loki stayed motionless, caught in the moment.

Mirage's whole body was shaking with nerves as she continued to step towards the thin man in green, standing at one end of her field. She skittered a little, and stopped just out of arms reach. Loki didn't reach out, didn't push it.

Up close, she was beautiful. A pale mane and tail scruffy with months of living wild. A coat scuffed with mud and dried grass that was the light orange of an early spring sunset. Four dainty, grass stained white socks on her legs, and delicate hooves. She had deep brown eyes, and Loki could tell that a world of trust would exist there when the broken visage cleared.

This little horse had been through hell, yet here she was. Unbroken, still fighting, yet changed, probably, beyond recognition.

"You and I are not so different, little mare," he said, as much to himself as to Mirage. "Both of us perceived as second best. Both of us cast out. Both of us crash-landing here."

Mirage shifted her feet and snorted.

"You've been locked in your own cage. So was I, once."

His dream the previous night had been more like a series of pictures. Loki suspected now that his 'dreams' were yet more memories, bleeding through the gaps.

_I had allowed myself to be captured. Barton was right. This team is viable, a viable threat. It cannot be allowed to come together. _

_But I still cannot resist goading the man who stood in front of me, the other side of the re-enforced glass. He had to lose, and therefore he would._

_I am a God. How can he not? _

"_It's an impressive cage. Not built, I think, for me."_

"_Built for something a lot stronger."_

"_Oh I've heard…"_

Narcissistic, arrogant.

There had been other occasions too, he was certain. Where he had been so convinced that he was in the right.

"_I love Thor more dearly than any of you, but you know what he is. He's arrogant, reckless, you saw how he was today. Is that what Asgard needs from its king?"_

_I'm on edge, speaking rudely and more forcefully than I intended. The events of Jotenheim are still fresh in my mind. Not least because I cannot shake the feeling that Thor's banishment arose as a direct result of my 'fun.'_

_And in the next scene, as my mother hands me the spear, Gugnir, I feel a sense of immense power and responsibility, as giddy as it is frightening. I realise what my father has wielded wisely and well, for many years. I feel a crippling terror with it. I realise Thor's heritage, and decide I must, and can rise to it. _

_I never wanted this power…but I like it. I have it, and must do my best with it. What choice do I have? _

He closed his eyes and willed the images to stop turning over in his memory. They would not.

_The final rejection, hanging from the splintered rainbow shards of the bridge_. _"I could have done it, father!"_

_A creature. Indistinct, in the shadows. _

"_Asgardian…" It growls. _

Loki shook his mind free of the image, but the memory remained.

_I only wanted what was best. I only wanted to prove myself._

_And look where it got you, Loki. _

Loki was beginning to scare himself. The bits and pieces were coming together, but in a jumbled order. He had scattered parts of the puzzle only. He could not yet see how they fitted together.

That he was a prince, thrown into power by necessity, he was certain. That he had abused that power, he assumed. That he had been cast out, or similar, and imprisoned some time later, he was confused about.

Then there was the man with the eyepatch. He had a tale of his own to tell in his story. But what?

_Not yet_ his headache told him. _You aren't ready._

_How bad can it be? _Loki asked himself.

No reply, but he had not expected one.

A strong gust of salty wind brought him back to the present. There was a horse nudging at his sleeve.

Mirage had closed the gap.

Loki reached up with a tentative hand, and began stroking her muzzle. She jumped back a little, but not much. She stood, just within reach, and accepted the contact.

Mirage had a story also, a story far more clear cut. But it was a story that had left her broken. Would he be in this state, if he knew his full story? Or would he be worse?

Would he still be that arrogant person, that delusional man…demi-god?

Was he _still _that person? He was a monster by birth. When he had reached into the fridge that morning for the milk his skin had taken on a slight blue tinge. A Jotun tinge. It was like the final proof, the nail in the coffin. _I am a monster. _

And yet Mirage still stood there, accepting the light rubbing of her muzzle with the back of his hand.

She had no such concerns about him.

_This trust is a gift. Do not abuse it, like her last owner. Cherish it, Loki._

In that second, Loki felt more privileged to have gained this abused youngster's trust than any king to have sat the throne of any realm.

Loki would later realise that trust of this sort was a fragile burden in itself. For now, he lost himself in the magic of that one, silver moment.

* * *

Standing back down the track, I could not bring myself to break it.


	7. The Silvertongue

_**I apologise for the essay at the end. Bit ish about this chapter, but still: Silvertongue Loki in action!**_

* * *

I busied myself with cleaning Bridie and Soiree's tack in the company of a sandwich and a cup of coffee while I waited for Loki. It didn't take him long to find me, wrist deep in a bucket of freezing water wringing out a sponge. Soiree's dismantled bridle hung over the saddle horse, seated next to the squashy old armchair in one corner. The tack room is airier than it ought to be. Half the pegs are unused.

I'd left the top half-door open. A shadow fell across my workspace. I knew it was him. Who the fuck else was it going to be?

He said nothing, simply leaned on the door and watched me work.

I broke the silence.

"You know, you're the first person to get near her without tranquilizers for over a year. Well done."

"You were watching?"

"You might say I walked in on it. You vanished, I got worried." I straightened up and turned to him. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"I've had enough of pulling you out of ditches."

"Of course." He didn't believe me.

I draped Soiree's headpiece across the saddle horse and stood up.

"You're unhappy." It wasn't a question.

"No I'm not. It's a breakthrough, the first breakthrough in over a year. I'm…pleased, I really am."

"You care about your horses. You're good with your horses. But now Mirage has responded to me, a comparative stranger, rather than you. To you it's a slight on your reputation, and on your natural gifts."

(Fuck.) He was right. I was a bit annoyed. Mirage was supposed to be my charge. I'd told myself that I would find a way, in the end. I hadn't got anywhere in three months. Then an amnesiac literally falls out of the sky and gains her trust in less than three days.

That, and I was a little jealous. (And I _wish he'd stop reading me like that._)

"Niamh, I'm not here to intrude on you. Don't you think you owe it to Mirage to do right by her?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked defensively.

"I think I can help her out of wherever she is in her mind. She responds to me. Doesn't she need that? Someone she can learn to trust?"

(But I wanted it to be me…) "How do I know I can trust you with her?"

"You don't."

I was struck by his blunt honesty.

"I don't know why you trust me with any of these animals. Or in your house, using your cooker. But you do. I'm asking you, for her sake…let me at least try."

He was asking me to put my faith in him, but it was more than that. _Let me prove to myself I'm not a monster. Let me prove myself worthy. _

I tucked my hair behind my ears.

"Well…alright. I'll be keeping an eye on you, though. If I think something's going badly wrong, I will step in, do you understand?"

Loki smiled. "Of course, I expect nothing less from you."

His oddly formal speech style was back. This must have meant a lot to him.

"How much more is there to do today?" Loki changed the subject.

"I'm going to work some more with Winter, see how bad his trailer problem is. And Dawn's owner should be here sometime this afternoon."

"Is she being collected as well?"

"Maybe, maybe not." I returned my attention to Soiree's headpiece. "Dawn's owner thinks she knows it all, it's going to be difficult convincing her that it's her riding mucking about with the horse, not a problem with the horse itself."

"Arrogant?"

"And then some. It's a shame some of these people go into horses."

Loki let himself into the tack room and picked up Soiree's martingale. "Do you want a hand with some of this?"

I shook my head. "I'm almost done. Do you mind bringing Winter in? His headcollar is outside his stall."

He nodded, and departed.

(Go team) I thought sarcastically, but it was true.

And I liked it. I liked _Loki_, come to that. So far, the cold, frightening, evil son-of-a-bitch that I'd seen on the news site hadn't appeared. All I saw was an intelligent, thoughtful, if rather cheeky man. No malice in him at all. It was hard _not_ to like him.

True, the incident with Mirage rankled a little but maybe I could help. Maybe Mirage and Quickie could be trained together. The little mare had never been backed.

It opened a world of possibilities. And the feeling was…incredible.

I began methodically fitting Soiree's bridle back together, promising myself I would take him riding once Dawn's owner had been and gone. Headpiece, browband, cheekpieces, grackle noseband. Distracted by my thoughts, whirring like the young leaves in the wind, I almost put his bit on back to front.

(I need more coffee.)

Loki was bringing in Winter as I put the kettle on.

"Coffee?" I yelled over the half door.

"Yes please!" came the eager reply.

(Yes, I definitely like him.) And wasn't that a strange thought.

* * *

I bought my own trailer around to the back for my session with Winter. He was tied to the fountain and watched as I backed my rather battered 4X4 and box round the field arches. Even from the driver's seat, I saw all his muscles tense. His tail clamped down and he watched, every muscle clenched.

(Big fat reaction there horsie…)

His owner (a Mrs "Please, call me Christie," Fenton) had been driving home from a show when a van had come too fast through a junction and straight into the nose of her trailer, where it was attached to her car. Both she and Winter had escaped without injury, but since then she had had a lot of trouble getting him into the box, and when in there, even more trouble keeping him calm. This wasn't the sort of problem I was used to correcting, being more a schooling person myself, but I was hardly a stranger to it.

I made sure to park in plenty of space and told Loki (hanging around) to open it up while I walked up the yard and untied Winter. He rolled his eyes at the blue and white trailer and took tiny, tight steps towards it.

"Atta boy…" I soothed.

He planted his feet as we walked under the arch. He was breathing hard through his nostrils. It echoed hollowly through the space. The muscles on his neck stood taut and were already starting to sweat a little. But he only took a couple of steps back, which was encouraging.

I could see exactly what his owner meant. I hoped it wouldn't take too long to cure. In our lunging session a couple of days ago (was it really? So much had happened) he had struck me as a horse with a brain.

I dropped the pressure on his headcollar and stroked his neck, long slow strokes, remembering to keep my own breathing relaxed and my body free of tension. Gradually, though it seemed to take an age, the tension bled out of his muscles. I plied him with a treat or two from the bag in my pocket, which he snatched up eagerly. But I waited until he was completely relaxed before asking him to walk on again. It took him a good half an hour.

It took at least another half an hour or so, and many jumps and dancing steps, but at last the cob walked once all the way around the trailer, with all its doors open. He even lowered his head and sniffed curiously at the back ramp. Loki sat at the top of the ramp, eating an apple he'd obviously stolen from the kitchen, not that I minded. Winter wouldn't go very close to him, or the ramp, but he certainly looked interested.

Time and patience would solve this, I was certain. Winter knew the drill with boxes and trailers, he simply needed some re-assurance. Today, I wasn't going to push it – to have him close to one and calm(ish) was enough for now, and we could end on a good note.

* * *

As I walked back from turning the cob back out, Loki's tall, thin form was waiting for me beneath the centre arch.

"Dawn's owner is here. She's in the office," he told me quietly. I nodded, and mentally steeled myself.

I huffed, rather like Bridie did if she thought I was being stupid and tucked my hair back behind my ears. "This is going to be hilarious." This woman did not top my list of favourite owners. Not by a long shot.

"I thought you were dreading it?"

"I'm being sarcastic."

"And I'm joking. Come on, Batty Horse Lady."

I had to chuckle at that one.

I felt a little better with Loki striding along beside me, but not much. I invariably ended up being very rude to these people, which never really boded well for the horses. The owners would disregard my advice and all my work would be for nothing.

But they made my blood boil.

The woman, Ms Rachel Archwright, was seated on my battered old setee as though it were a throne. She was a small woman, with an (ahem) large girth size and beady eyes which glared at me as though everything wrong was my fault. My hackles went up at the mere sight of it.

"I hope you have called me here for something important, Miss Stonebridge," she said haughtily, before I'd even had a chance to open my mouth. "It's a long drive in a horsebox."

I forced my voice to remain calm as I sat behind my desk. Loki tucked himself silently into a corner. "Thanks for coming down. As I said over the phone, we need to discuss Dawn's schooling - "

"Are you suggesting that I haven't schooled her correctly?" Ms Archwright interrupted. (Mother of fuck. Stay calm.) "I myself have ridden regional level dressage. I have watched her brought up from a four-year old. I thought ironing out the bad manners that she has picked up since my acquiring of her was your job."

"_I am saying_ that she doesn't have a schooling issue. The mare rides very nicely. As hard as this may be to hear, the problem lies in your riding."

(Here we go). Dawn's owner stood, drawing herself to her full (read: short) height. I stood with her.

"Did you not hear me say I have reached the regional dressage finals? I don't see how the problem can lie with me. As I just said, she has picked up bad manners from the other horses in competition."

I opened my mouth to protest but she held up one hand like an imperious dowager duchess. "I must say I'm surprised at you. You have such a reputation in this region with horses. It's a shame you don't live up to it. If Dawns' issues are beyond your abilities, it seems I shall have to look elsewhere for help."

I snapped.

"Lady, you ride like a sack of potatoes. How the hell you reached regional level dressage I do not know, but the judge needs glasses. Dawn is receiving so many mixed signals from you it's a wonder she can even function. I'm simply suggesting you get yourself some decent instruction - "

"Nobody can understand my horse like me, and I certainly shall not have any external instructor telling me what to do. If you will excuse me, I shall collect my horse and belongings and go, and may I add that you will of course, not be receiving a penny from me."

"If you ever want to compete her at the level she deserves you will take my advice!"

"I certainly will not. You have disappointed me, Miss Stonebridge, in addition to being extremely rude. Now, if you please…"

I whacked a fist on the table in frustration. "Let me show you. Let me ride her for you."

Ms Archwright looked at me as though I was something she had scraped off her shoe. "Certainly not."

I slumped as the woman turned to leave.

And suddenly, there was Loki, standing in front of her. I'd forgotten he was in the room.

"You are right, of course," he said, in a soft, soothing, respectful tone. "Nobody knows Dawn like you do, having ridden her for so long. But an experienced dressage rider such as yourself must know that the horse is only half the partnership."

The woman visibly froze. _I _visibly froze.

"Don't you think, that to improve on where you are now you need to concentrate on yourself? I know Dawn would probably thank you for it."

"…well…I don't know…" Ms Archwright stuttered.

"Let Niamh ride her for you. Let her give you some advice on how you can shine."

Dawn's owner visibly deflated. "Well. If you put it like that…please, Miss Stonebridge, demonstrate."

Numbly I stood up and walked to the door. "Loki, can you go and fetch Dawn in for me, please?"

(What on earth did I just watch?)

_The Silvertongue._

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Ms Archwright and Loki were standing at the gate watching Dawn and I prance around the school in perfect balance. Nothing fancy – some transitions, simple schooling manoeuvres and flying changes. Dawn was on the bit and leaping off my leg.

"It's astonishing," said her owner as I came to a square(ish) halt in front of the gate. "I think I owe you an apology, Niamh."

(And she actually sounds sincere about it. Miracles do happen.)

"You see?" Loki said.

"Indeed I do. I don't think I've been seeing my horses' full potential."

"Like I say, find yourself a decent instructor and sort out your position and aids. Once you've done that you will find you progress in leaps and bounds." I added.

Mrs Archwright petted Dawn's nose. "Mixed signals, you say? I will be sure to mention that to whoever I find. I know of one or two freelancers in my area."

Dawn snorted at her owner's touch and nosed into her hand. I still thought the woman was a right prat, and whether she would take good instruction remained to be seen. I remained hopeful, however. Maybe Loki's words would have some lasting influence on her.

She certainly seemed keen to get started. It didn't take the three of us long to pack Dawn's tack and rugs into her horsebox, then the horse herself. I stroked her neck as I clipped the partition into place. Dawn was another I wanted to go on to greater things, another one I would miss. Maybe not to the extent of Cavalier, but she was a lovely mare. I felt worse for Hatty. The two mares adored one another.

We settled up in the office, and the woman thanked us again before climbing into her cab and driving away. Dawn's grey nose poked out of the tiny, half-open window.

* * *

By this point it was nearly five. In spite of the fact that the visit and subsequent departure of Dawn had gone more smoothly than I had dared to hope, I was still wound up, and skittish and scared. I needed to get away.

"Niamh? Are you alright?" It was Loki, with a steadying hand on my back. I tensed. I hadn't realised my emotions had shown on my face.

"I'm…I need to go riding. Don't damage anything while I'm gone."

Despite my earlier cleaning session I didn't bother with tack, simply grabbed Soiree's headcollar from its peg and hurried (well, walked quickly) out to his field.

I caught him and brought him out of the field before leaping onto his back from the ground. We took off towards the cliff edge.

* * *

The grassy track becomes a sandy path that winds down the short cliff. At the bottom of this is my father's beach house. Shut up now – I only ever use the veranda for the odd glass of wine on a particularly fine evening. Very rarely. But the beach beyond it is a four mile stretch from cliff to cliff, and it's all private. All mine.

Soiree bounced down the track and onto the sand rustling beneath his feet. The tide was going out, the evening drawing in.

This has helped me to let go ever since I discovered the art of riding with no tack. Everything – Loki, the changes he had wrought in the short span of time since he had arrived – was crowding my head. Tonight I needed to let go.

I took Soiree to the water's edge and let him fly.

He sprang off his hocks, hooves digging into the soft sand as he flew along the surf. I threw back my head and let everything go, free at long, long last.

* * *

Loki was stunned by Niamh's abrupt departure. He didn't think they'd done a bad job, yet she'd simply run off.

He'd followed her as far as the arches, and watched her literally spring onto the back of her lithe bay, Soiree. They vanished over the lip of the rise and down towards the beach. Silhouetted briefly against the sky, and then they were gone.

Loki was having a hard time convincing himself Niamh's quick exit was nothing to do with him.

Honestly, he had intended to leave it to Niamh herself, but he had read this woman the instant he walked into the room. It hadn't been hard to talk her down when hot-head Niamh had flown off the handle at the thinly veiled insult of her good work. He had simply stepped in to lend a hand. It was as well he had – better for the horse as well as the woman herself. Also better for Niamh, before she started hitting things.

It had been startlingly easy, in fact. Like he could read Niamh, he had read, and manipulated this arrogant middle aged woman.

The action held that same sense of being on familiar territory. A grasp of the situation, and of the people within in. He felt he'd started as many fights as he'd ended. And why?

It was funny.

_Pranks are one thing…but deliberate manipulation? For the wrong reasons? _

Loki found the feed room, with the list of horses and feeds scribbled on the smooth white writing board hung above the rickety pine table, grainy and stained with years of use. They had prepared all the stables this morning, so he assumed all the horses were once again coming in overnight. After wiping off Cavalier and Dawn, who had both now left, he thought about trying to work out what was what in the way of feed, and decided against it. Working out the recipe the previous night had been fairly simple – all had been ingredients he had recognised in some form or other. Opening first one big silver, metal chest, then another, he recognised nothing of what lay inside. He decided he was better off leaving it to Niamh. But he could at least start bringing in.

How had they got here? This unacknowledged team, this uneasy truce. This fragile trust. It was time for Loki to evaluate what he really wanted from this.

_I just want my memories back. I want my life back._

_And then what?_

He was comfortable here. And Niamh? Was she comfortable with this?

It was hard to say. She hadn't complained outright, not since that first day. But you can't undo five years of reclusiveness in three days.

He was still pondering it as he walked Hatty, the fleabitten grey back to her stable. She was whinnying in an uncomfortable sort of way. Missing her fieldmate, Dawn.

"Sorry, girl. We can't do much about that, I'm afraid." He stroked her brown-flecked neck as she nibbled dully at her haynet. She snorted.

Loki thought of his brother. Thor. The worst part of remembering him was not remembering missing him after being exiled. His own brother.

Hatty nudged him gently with her nose as if to say, 'it's all okay.' He smiled and smoothed her neck a few more times, before letting himself out and going to lead in Winter once again. By now it was growing dark. It was early spring, and the days were still short.

By the time he'd reached Quickie, and then Bridie, Niamh had still not returned. She had been gone for around and hour and a half by now. Loki wondered if he should be worried. The light was fading fast and the breeze had picked up to ruffle his hair and jacket. It sent tattered lines of cloud scudding low and black along the oranges of the sunset, away to the west. Through the low light he could see Mirage pacing. She seemed agitated, but she should be used to being left out on her own after three months…

Loki ducked underneath Mirage's fence, but did not approach the young mare. "What's the matter?"

She began pacing again. Towards Loki, jump back, trot away, repeat. Then Mirage pricked her ears and whinnied. The answering cry came from much closer than Loki anticipated.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Soiree crested the rise. He was alone.

* * *

He barrelled past the two onlookers, headed for his stable, lead rope trailing. Loki ignored him. Ducking back under the fence he ran for the crest of the rise, where the grass became sand and the track sloped steeply down to the beach.

"Niamh?"

No reply. He could see nothing in this light.

Something clawed its way into his chest, something unfamiliar. Panic.

His books skidded on the loose surface as he bolted down the cliff path. Niamh had come off, could be seriously injured, unconscious, maybe even dead. Loki had lost enough.

Still no sound, just the night breeze and the rush of the waves. Shadows deepened, silver light from a clear sky lit the scene. He could not tell the difference between rock, sand…body.

He called again but it was torn away by the waves.

Nothing was moving, save the sea. If she was in trouble and he didn't find her soon, she could…

_Don't think it, Loki of Asgard, don't you dare think it._

He couldn't run through the sand. It was heavy, and slippery as it sloped down to the crashing waves. So he walked, rapidly, his usual stride stuttered with caution and nerves.

_And when did she become this important to you?_

He ignored that little voice and kept on searching.

He wouldn't have found her at all in the gathering night had he not tripped over her. She lay prone on the sand, just beginning to stir feebly. Something hot and fiery rushed through him – relief, or more panic? – and he knelt next to her. "Niamh? What happened?"

For a heart stopping moment there was no reply. Then a feeble "Bugger Soiree, spooked at a bloody crab…" before she slumped once again.

Loki checked her pulse, laying two long fingers against her neck. It thumped steadily, a good sign. Simply unconscious then.

He looked back at the empty shoreline, then lifted the young woman into his arms. Either she was extremely light or he was extremely strong, but she weighed next to nothing.

She had sand in her clothes, but he didn't register it next to the warmth of her frame, resting in his arms. The busy woman, who never really stopped until she fell into bed every night, looked childlike in unconsciousness. It aroused a protective instinct in him.

Loki promised himself he would ponder that later, but his priority now was getting Niamh home.

He glanced around again. He couldn't shake off the sensation that they were being watched.

As though she was a rare and delicate creature, he carried her back down the sand.

* * *

"_Hawkeye, report. What's he doing?"_

"_He's carrying her back."_

"_Is she in any immediate danger?"_

"_Doesn't look like it. Do you want me to intervene, sir?"_

_Silence from the other end. _

_Clint Barton – Hawkeye - had sat in plenty of trees in his time, and not always for honourable reasons. This particular tree had an uncomfortable knot that was digging straight into his spine. He didn't move however –he knew how perceptive this man was. And how fast. _

_He hoped this assignment would be over soon. Sooner this guy was brought in the better. Damn Thor. _

_The line crackled. "Hold your position. I want to continue surveillance until we're certain he's no longer a threat."_

"_Can we ever be certain of that, sir?"_

_Silence. _

_Both S.H.I.E.L.D agents knew the answer. _

* * *

**_A bit of jargon:_**

**_Soiree's bridle (the grackle noseband is crossed over the nose, good for horses that enjoy bolting off with their noses in the air): . /pws/images/catalogue/products/9686/xlarge/9686_ From the top: headpiece (behind the ears), browband, throatlash, grackle noseband, cheekpieces, bit and reins. _**

**_Flying changes: when a horse canters, the foreleg and hoof that hits the ground last is called the leading leg. A flying change is where the horse changes this leading leg without breaking pace. Really nice youtube vid here: watch?v=iUgnXKK0ris _**

**_I have completely made up the technique Niamh uses on Winter, drawn from a Monty Roberts demonstration and my own experiences with finnicky loaders. _**

**_NOTE: Nimah rides that last scene without a hat, which is a BAD IDEA, even if experienced. Horses are unpredictable and it's very easy to fall off and get hit by a flying hoof if they panic. _**


	8. Perspective

_**Hey again guys =D Here's another update, prepare for family feels. Usual disclaimers apply. **_

* * *

Loki laid her out on the squashy couch in her office, pulled off her shoes and covered her in a blanket. She was still out for the count. There had been a frightening moment walking up the fields where she had started wriggling and then gone limp. He had no idea how hard she had hit her head.

He left her there, still asleep and went to check Soiree. He was nosing at his stable door trying to reach his haynet, the same position he'd been in when he'd hurried the unconscious Niamh through the yard. The horse turned, still trailing his leadrope and pricked his ears towards the tall man. He looked as innocent as anything.

"A crab, Soiree? Really?"

Soiree snorted.

Concern for Niamh did not keep Loki long. He opened the stable and led the bay inside. The horse fell to eating instantly, completely unconcerned at the man's agitation.

Loki had a brief, painful flash of pushing a button and watching his brother plummet out of sight.

_Monster. _

He told his thoughts to be quiet and hurried back to the office.

He checked her scalp for injuries, relived to find no evidence of fractures as he ran his sensitive fingers though her hair. It felt thick in his hands. Hair you could get lost in. Drown in, almost…Loki pushed himself away with an effort before that train of thought could take him any further.

Since there wasn't really a great deal he could do until she woke up, he sat cross-legged on her desk (something she would no doubt be ticked off about when she returned to him).

He looked at his long fingers, his pale hands. Hands that had wielded a weapon of immense power. Hands that had killed, destroyed in a hot, exquisite rush of chaos. _Monster_.

_I am not a monster. I cannot be. I…_

_(tried to kill my own brother. Destroyed the Bifrost, the way between the worlds. Destroyed an Earth city, and for what? Are these the actions of a sane man?)_

His recollections were growing darker. All consuming feelings of desire, desire for vengeance, for recognition, to be proved worthy pervaded them now, a far cry from the feelings of love and security.

"I wasn't sane," he muttered. Saying it out loud made it more convincing. "I was lucid but not sane."

_Does that make it alright, then? No. _

But then there was Niamh, who did not judge. There was Mirage, who saw something in him. Whether or not he was worthy of their regard made no difference to this.

He looked at the dusty, cobwebby rafters.

"Father…I don't know if you can hear me…I don't know my full story yet, but I know that you have sent me here for a reason.

"I've…I've seen death in my dreams. Death and fire and blood that I am responsible for. Can I be redeemed, Allfather? Can I wipe out this?"

"_Can you wipe out that much red?"_

_Romanoff's face falls. _

"I want to be worthy of Niamh's regard, and of Mirage's trust. I want to be worthy of your love, and mother's and Thor's. I want to start again…but I don't know how to undo this…"

Niamh shifted a little in her sleep. Her fringe almost covered her eyelids. She was beautiful when awake, of course, despite her constant motion and snappy manner. Unconscious however, Loki could appreciate it more. She had a pleasant, oval face, well-proportioned and framed by her black locks. A face alive, that could flash with anger or blush endearingly, that opened up around horses as it never would around people.

Interesting. Loki had never thought of humans as particularly beautiful. On Asgard, they were just another race to be watched over and protected. This human however…

Her brows contracted and her ice eyes opened and focused on him immediately. "Stop thinking, Loki," she said teasingly. Her voice was thick from her period of unconsciousness.

"Niamh!" He hopped off the desk, thought train scattered to the sea wind. "How do you feel?"

"Where's Soiree? Is he alright?"

Loki stared. Niamh had been thrown without a riding hat, knocked unconscious in the middle of nowhere, and all she could think about was the horse. He was torn between annoyance at her priorities and laughing.

"Soiree is filling his face with hay in his stable as we speak. At the moment, I care more about you."

"Very sweet of you, but I have had worse." She made to sit up, then clutched at her forehead. "Ow. Fuck. Maybe not."

"I…what can I do?"

"Er…go into the kitchen, get one of the ice blocks out of the freezer – they're blue and look like hip flasks…oh hell, you'll know them – put it in a plastic bag and bring it back out here." She shut her eyes. "Owww…didn't think light could hurt this much."

Loki left her to it, found the blue ice blocks with some difficulty, and returned.

* * *

"Ah…that feels good." She pressed the freezing lump against her forehead. Loki surreptitiously flexed his fingers to try and get the blue colouring out of them.

Of course Niamh noticed.

"Got much else?" she asked. "So far, I mean…"

"Niamh, can we get some perspective here, please?" he snapped in response. "You've just been thrown – with no protective helmet, might I add – by a slightly crazy horse. You've been unconscious for a good hour or so. Can we not start talking about me?"

"Like I said, I've had worse," Niamh snapped back. "Don't treat me like I'm a china doll."

"You could have been killed. What would you have done if I hadn't been here?"

Niamh sat up, with a wince and an effort.

"Woken up before the tide came in!"

"You don't know that!"

They stood there, frozen in tableau, the lean man standing before the young woman with a rapidly forming bruise on her forehead.

Slowly, the tension diffused.

"Sorry."

"You should be, Niamh. You could quite easily have died."

"When did you start caring?" Her words were only half teasing.

"Since I found out…remembered…that I've lost enough." Loki sat back on the desk, the anger deflating out of him.

I sank back horizontally onto the sofa cushions, head pounding. "Tell me."

"There are so many gaps."

"Don't try and fill them. Just…talk to me. What do you know?"

"I thought we weren't going to talk about me?"

"_Loki._"

He sighed.

* * *

"I was born to the Jotun King, Laufey, but raised as Odin's second son, the younger brother to Thor. I discover this by accident, but then Thor is cast out, I cannot remember precisely why.

"I…my parents – _foster parents_ – they told me that they didn't want me to feel different. You already know that, it's rather the mirror or your own experience."

(And don't I know it.)

"Then Odin…he has to fall asleep, essentially, to recharge his powers…I suppose rather like you drink coffee. In any case, with Thor gone and mother unable to ascend the throne, it fell to me to take up the role."

I scoffed at the idea that women couldn't rule.

Loki noticed. "Most maidens go into sorcery, like I did. They only recently gave them the right to train with men to become warriors, largely thanks to Thor."

"Not so different to what happened down here. Most of the twentieth century was one big feminist protest."

Loki looked confused. "I…I don't think…"

"It's fine, you won't get the context unless you grew up with it. Anyway, continue."

He cleared his throat. "I never wanted the throne, I never wanted the power, or the responsibility. I was never prepared for it, for a start. But…something happened. There's a huge gap, and then I'm hanging from a rainbow bridge called the Bifrost. I said something like, 'I did it for you, father,' but he wouldn't accept it…" His face clouded and he closed his eyes.

I was reminded of a summer spent in London. The memory was like a punch to the gut.

"I don't know what I did to earn his disapproval, but I know that I must have abused my power, in some way." His face clouded over. "I almost don't want to know. The next thing I recall is being aboard the…the Chitauri warship. That's where things get…messy."

"Messy? As in, they weren't already messy?"

"Not even close."

I shuddered.

"These have a different feel to them. Different flavour, if you like. They're more disjointed. More like a nightmare. Something happened in between falling off the bridge and meeting the Chitauri captain."

"Something like what?" I asked gently.

"I don't know. But I think it drove me mad."

The silence between us was thick. Like treacle, black as the night pressing against the windows.

I was thinking of the news articles. Loki was thinking of…well, who knows what he was thinking of, but it was clearly dark shit. His brow was furrowed, his green eyes downcast and darkened by the memories churning behind them.

"How's your head?" the man asked eventually.

"Sore."

"I thought as much. I'm taking you back to the house and putting you to bed."

"Easy tiger," I muttered. Loki simply glared at me. "Alright, time and a place. You want to give me a hand up here?"

Loki slid an arm around my waist and hauled me to my feet. My head swam but I stayed on my feet, leaning heavily against his side. Despite his leanness, it was comfortable.

We walked back to the house unsteadily, as though drunk and returning from the party. Pissed revellers, looking for a quickie in the bushes of my sister's wedding, the last time I'd spoken to any of my family.

I shook my head to clear it. It did the reverse, but at least the memory was gone.

* * *

I knew if I ate something it would just come straight back up, so I went straight to bed. Loki, however, sat up thinking. I left him in the living room.

Like a fixture, he was part of the place now. Within three days, he had integrated himself. How did that happen? (How did I let that happen?)

* * *

But days turned into weeks. The weeks began to bleed into months. Before I knew it, summer was here, and the tourists began to busy my quiet back roads. The sun broke through the clouds a little more often and the temperature rose, though the wind never really abated.

Winter's trailer issues were ironed out in a couple of weeks. The sight of him standing happily in my trailer, eating out of a haynet was beautiful. So was his owner's smile.

Loki continued to help, to take care of my horses.

Despite her responsiveness to him, it took Mirage two weeks to accept a headcollar, and another two for her to accept anybody except Loki anywhere near her. She remembered how to be led, which was an advantage, and she knew Quickie from their conversations over the fence. Loki proved a patient pupil, even when Mirage got worried by what he was asking of her and went postal again, no matter how long it took and how frustrated he got. A couple of times I threw him out of the ménage until he had calmed down a bit. Slowly but surely, the young chestnut mare began to live again.

The catch, if there was one, never turned up.

This made me doubly suspicious because in my book, there is always a catch.

This particular Sunday, we were walking the two youngsters down the beach. Somewhere above us, a gull was crying. The wash of the waves was the only sound. It was a pleasant day. Quickie had done this a hundred times before but he always found something new to look at – flotsam on the sand, a piece of seaweed. He jumped sideways at random intervals, kicking up wet sand beneath his hooves. "Clown," I muttered under my breath.

Mirage had only done this a handful of times. The ever changing shore was still new to her. She stepped carefully across the sand, dainty hooves leaving little imprint in the damp, heavy sand at the tideline, sidestepping weeds, shells, a plastic bottle or two…anything overly unfamiliar. While Quickie was doing it partly to be funny, Mirage was tense, only her overwhelming curiosity for everything keeping her from running a mile.

Loki was relaxed. He kept letting her stop to sniff at strange things, and to reassure her.

He hadn't changed very much. He remained quiet…very cheeky. I remembered very clearly the morning I had woken up to find all my jodhpurs hanging from the trees in my garden. Or the morning all the headcollars had simply…vanished. Or the evening the TV remote control had simply refused to work, no matter how many times I changed the batteries. Loki had denied all knowledge, but the smile and the sparkle in his eyes told me it wasn't the fairies.

There had been no more memory recalls, or any further seizures. I'd only witnessed one, but one was quite enough.

I didn't talk about it. I had no intention of getting on his bad side. I simply left him to it.

We were by now quite adept at navigating the kitchen. After the bolognase sauce we managed lasagne, spaghetti carbonara, a fish and prawn pie, both cottage and shepherds' pie and macaroni cheese. Our first apple pie had exploded in the oven but had still tasted fine. He was intelligent and he'd read his way through my (limited) library in under a week, but I wondered sometimes if Loki was using his magic a little in the cooking, perhaps subconsciously. He always denied it.

I trust horses more than I do people, but I trusted this person enough. Wasn't that a weird thought.

His thin face was serene as he watched his charge pick her way through the flotsam on the tideline, made thinner by his hair, which I had taken the scissors to some weeks ago. There was no sign of the madman from the newspapers. The contrast couldn't be greater.

It was confusing – which was the real Loki? And as I watched him and Mirage, I wondered if it would be such a bad thing if his whole story never came back to him. Wasn't ignorance bliss?

Didn't Loki deserve this?

(He's an ex-mass murderer who has admitted that he thinks he was driven mad.)

(That's like saying horses like Hatty and Mirage don't deserve a second chance) I always told myself. Hatty had left a week or so previously, the groundwork firmly set for her and her rider to build up the confidence she needed. There were a couple of new horses that had come in, but with only five the yard seemed very large, and very quiet. Easier for Loki and I – longer coffee breaks – but I like being kept busy.

In fact, apart from his haircut only one thing had changed significantly since Loki's arrival.

We were being watched.

* * *

I never thought I was the paranoid type, but there were times, out cleaning the fields, levelling the muck heap, riding in the school, that I felt eyes on me. It was similar to the crowded feeling I'd experienced when Loki had first arrived.

Maybe I ought to have expected it sooner. I was harbouring Planet Earth's (Amnesiac) Enemy Number One.

I didn't tell Loki. He'd probably try to leave and I'd grown used to having him around

The question was: Who was watching, and what did they want with us?

This plot thickened all the time. I was starting to really not like it.

* * *

Mirage and Quickie both sidestepped a highly suspect tuft of grass on our way back up the cliff, the iron grey's dark hooves slipping a little in the sand.

"Quickie, stop setting a bad example" I mock-scolded. Loki laughed.

We turned them straight back out and watched them buck their way down their respective fields before settling to graze.

"Someone's come out of her shell a bit," I remarked to nobody in particular.

"So has someone else." Loki looked at me pointedly.

I knew he was right but it didn't stop me biting back.

"Oh shut up, I was never in my shell…"

"You were!"

"Was not."

"Were too."

"Was _not…_"

We continued bantering back and forth all the way back to the house.

I froze to the spot when I saw who was waiting outside the back door, texting somebody on a very expensive phone.

"Niamh?" Loki prompted quietly, sensing my sudden tension. He touched my shoulder lightly.

I barely noticed.

"Edina?!"

* * *

The woman spun around to face us. Her face was half covered by a ridiculous pair of sunglasses. The floaty shawl and stylish skirt gave her the impression of having blown in on the wind (and hopefully out again as soon as possible.)

"Niamh!" she squealed, pulling off her glasses. Next thing I knew a storm of flapping clothes and brown hair barrelled towards me and smothered me. Loki was unceremoniously knocked aside.

My sister Edina has always been willowy thanks to genetics and graceful thanks to dance lessons. She's got three inches on me and wears high heels. I was swamped in silky material, something sticky (I later realised, while in the bathroom, it was her make-up), and expensive, cloying perfume. I returned the hug awkwardly, trying not to choke on the stench.

"Eddy, what the hell are you doing here?!"

"Oh, I was just passing by on the way home from this _fabulous_ charity function in Cornwall and I simply _had _to drop in and see you. Oh dear sis, it's been far too long since you were last in London!"

"What possible reason would I have for going to London?"

"Oh, I don't know, your _family, _some of whom want to _see_ you more frequently than once every six years?"

"You know my address."

"Oh, but it isn't the same! I was at a _fabulous_ little restaurant a couple of days ago, you would have_ loved _it…"

I strongly doubted that.

I glanced to the side. Loki was standing there, feathers ruffled and watching proceedings with a look of confusion.

Edina also seemed to notice him for the first time. "Oh! And who's this?" she asked in a tone of polite interest.

"Er…Edina, this is…Luke a…friend of mine. Luke, my sister Edina."

Loki didn't bat an eyelash at the false name, simply stepped forward and extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Eddy was lost for words when, instead of shaking her hand, he bowed over it. However, none of this showed on her face. Careful schooling when we were younger had seen to that. She waited until his back was turned before she gaped at me.

"Just get in the house and stop catching flies," I muttered under my breath.

"He's _gorgeous!_" she gushed in a hushed whisper.

"And he can hear you, now shut. Up. Tea?" I said, in a slightly louder voice.

"Oh, thank you pet."

(Damn. I thought she'd forgotten that particular nickname.)

* * *

Last time Edina was here was before she was married. I made her tea and tried not to bodily throw her out when she started talking about interior decorators and extensions and having someone in to do the cleaning. The next time I saw her was at her wedding and she had eyes only for the small mountain range of wedding gifts. I left through the back entrance.

The place just felt crowded with three of us. Edina was being less than helpful. She was rattling merrily away about some function or other and London high society, addressing all her remarks to Loki, seated on my kitchen island.

I stirred her teabag with more force than necessary, making coffee for myself. I tucked my hair behind my ears, out of my eyes. I'd be upgrading it to Irish later.

Eddy doesn't drink coffee, the heathen.

Loki was _good._ Scarily good. He could give my aunt's poker (read: boring society) face a run for its money. His features were a mask of polite interest. If he was responding to her subtle flirting – removing her silk shawl, fiddling with some stray scraps of hair, coy glances from under perfectly made-up lashes – he showed no signs of it.

I, on the other hand, wanted to push her in front of a bus.

(_Leave him alone!_) I wanted to yell. (_For God's sake woman, you're married, and he's not interested!_)

(I hope he's not…)

And that was the strangest thought of the last three months.

But I knew she wouldn't listen and I'd only embarrass myself, so all I could do was stand there and seethe.

"Eddy, tea." I said tersely, when the concoction had finally brewed enough. For an instant she was distracted. Loki's eyes met mine questioningly over her turned back. I waited till she looked away again, then shrugged.

Eventually (wisely), he excused himself and vanished into the depths of my house. The instant he was gone, Edina rounded on me. "Oh sweet _Lord_ Niamh, where on earth did you find him?"

(In a ditch, barefoot and covered in muck), I was tempted to say. "He's new to the village. Met him at the grocers. He helps me out some days."

"He looks so classy though! You _must_ bring him up to town sometime Niamh, you _must_. Auntie would _love _him."

"Edina, he wasn't even talking to you. Be realistic."

"Oh _Niamh…_it's funny though, I was sure for a moment I recognised him."

"I, er…" I turned half away from my sister so she wouldn't see the half-moment of panic that flitted across my face at her words. "I doubt it. I think he's just got one of those faces." I tucked my hair back behind my ears.

"Ah, Niamh, you _have to_ get yourself a young man like that. Actually, I think you have to get yourself a young man anyway. You're 25 and you've never had a boyfriend, or anything. It isn't healthy. The closest you had was Roy, and he was 60 and…well…_staff_."

"That…Eddy, you know that doesn't count. He was a father figure."

"And so you neglected your family and your _duty_ to run off with the horses."

"There's a good reason for that, and you know it. If all you're going to do is lecture me about my life choices…"

"All I'm saying is, it wouldn't kill you to _try_…"

I looked at her steadily. "Wouldn't it?"

Edina fell silent for the first time.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd forgotten."

"Well…I thought it was all behind us now."

"Not for Aunt it's not. That woman can hold a grudge like nothing I've ever seen."

Edina giggled. "You may be right there. Did I tell you? You remember Daddy's friend, Ian Holmes, and the way he used to get drunk and come on to her when we were children, in front of everyone? No, I don't suppose you do. Anyway, Charlie's away and he turned up the other week to visit Mummy, and Auntie Sophia was there as well and he tried it again and Niamh, imagine it, it was _simply _the funniest thing!"

I could imagine it. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop giggling.

Edina laughed aloud, and then threw herself at me again. "Oh darling! You haven't missed me but I have missed you! I'm so glad you have _someone _here keeping an eye on you!"

I didn't tell her that it was more _me _keeping an eye on _him_, but maybe there was some truth in that.

"Oh, you know Mummy and Auntie will want to meet him. You know what they're like about friends."

"Oh, no, Eddy, please!"

Edina stepped back. "What is it?"

"Please…don't tell them about him, I don't want Aunt to frighten him off." (I don't want Aunt recognising him either.)

Edina looked at me dubiously, then her expression split into a grin. "I thought you said he was _just a friend_."

"He is but…oh, just don't, please. I have the right to my privacy."

She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing more. We changed the subject to my business, but I could tell she wasn't listening as I talked about Quickie and Soiree and the horses that were coming and going. She didn't stay for long.

* * *

Eddy left still trying to extract promises from me to come up to London. I waved her off refusing every single one. Some things will never change.

Loki re-materialised once her convertible BMW had swished away down the drive. "So that's your sister."

"Edina. Yes…" I was still trying to calm my rattled nerves. "We were never close, growing up, but she conveniently forgets that every once in a while."

"I can tell. Pet?"

I shot him a death glare.

* * *

**_I don't have a sister but I really enjoyed writing Eddy._**

**_Right, some visual aids for you, to brighten up a not-very-actiony chapter (no pictures are mine) _**

**_Bridie, chestnut Irish Hunter: _** . /images/ResizedImages/14-8-12-569757Image1_

**_Soiree, dark bay Anglo-Arab (shorten the mane a little): _** .

**_Quicksilver, warmblood rising two-year old: _** . /-62LhrU0X3ws/T4XQf6OjP5I/AAAAAAAAEoc/-Ak4aMvcI_g/s1600/Grey%252BPanel%252Byearling%252B25%252BApr%252B09%

**_Mirage, chestnut mare of unknown breed/type (add two more white socks to her forelegs): ok this one is being an arse, I'll try again some time. _**


	9. Come Ride With Me

_**Trigger warnings for mentions of** **sexual abuse. I have zero experience of this situation myself and I hoped I've handled it ok. Aplogies and hugs if I haven't, but this is going to be a bit of an undercurrent from hereon in. Not major, but it's there...**_

* * *

He knew that Niamh thought the easy partnership, their co-habitation, was odd. She didn't seem to mind it though, which was lucky for him. Loki knew, instinctively that he had not been this happy, this at peace, in a long time. He had become quite comfortable here.

There had been no more memories, painful or otherwise. As much as it was eating at him to still have gaps in his memory, he was trying not to overthink why this might be. He took each day at a time. The lapse in recollections was helping somewhat with this.

Some of the first words Niamh had said to him was 'Your name doesn't define who you are.' He had taken some comfort from this.

The unexpected visit of her sister had thrown him a little.

She remained quiet after the impromptu visit, vanishing into the stables to cool off. Loki came through around half an hour after Edina had left to find her grooming Bridie the chestnut mare in the middle of the yard.

He sat beside the horse at the fountain. Bridie snuffed at his shoulder and attempted to knock him into the water. Niamh smiled and continued her steady brushing. For a while that was all there was – the quiet rush of the breeze and the rasp of the brush against the horse's shining, light orange coat.

The visit had brought family to the front of his mind again. From the little he knew of Edina, she had Niamh had never been close, had always been on opposing sides. It was saddening. Loki had had company of his own age growing up. He loved his brother. Niamh, it seemed, had been alone for much of her childhood. The less favoured child. Like himself, but without the love and attention that had been lavished on him nonetheless.

He had been half expecting to see the sort of close, easy relationship he had had with Thor – before it all went wrong, of course – between Niamh and her sister. Instead he saw one, pushy and determined to outstay her welcome and the other wishing for her departure. The only piece of sibling love was that one moment when they chuckled over a shared joke. A joke Niamh would not elaborate on.

He had been lucky. He had taken so much for granted – now it had been taken from him, he almost missed it.

Almost, because he liked his new life. He liked being with the horses. He liked being with Niamh. Sweet Niamh, whose eyes were troubled with memories of her own as she groomed her mare.

Loki had known better than to pry in all of his stay, but his curiosity burned on.

"Why don't you see your family?" he asked gently, eventually.

"Because we want different things." Niamh said shortly. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Because they want me to be someone I'm not. Because my aunt hates me. Satisfied?"

"They're still your family…"

"No. Your family is whoever you consider it to be. This is my family, right here. My lot just happen to have four legs and tails."

Loki considered that for a second.

"And what about you, Loki? Who is your family? Is it still the people who lied to you, who cast you out?"

"I cast myself out," he muttered.

"Same difference."

"Well, yes! They are. You said that, the day after I got here."

Niamh ignored this. "Why the sudden interest in my family, anyway? I don't see that it's any of your damn business."

"It might be."

"It's not."

"It's affecting you. It hurts you, I could see it when you first realised it was Edina standing at the door." Loki rose to his feet slowly and took a step towards her. "You're helping me, why won't you let me help you?"

"You are helping me," she said evasively. She still refused to meet his eyes.

"_Niamh._ You know what I mean."

He was right beside her now. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable in that moment, standing with a hand on her horse's flank. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Do we remind you of you and your brother?"

"Only in the ways you're dissimilar to how we…were."

Niamh's blue eyes finally rose to meet his. She seemed to be steeling herself for something.

"Come riding with me."

* * *

Loki rode Bridie, the more sensible mount. I rode Soiree. The two horses had grown up together and kept pace naturally, despite never having been hacked together before.

Loki suited Bridie, the taller of the two, his long legs wrapping around her. He had the rather slouching seat of someone who has been taught to ride on a different saddle.

"Sit up a bit," I suggested. "You're weight's too far back."

For a minute or so we hacked in silence along the windy clifftop.

The sea rushed into the silence, accompanying the sighing of the wind and the hiss of the grass beneath the horses' hooves.

"Remember I told you I had a privileged upbringing? To cut a long story short, Dad bought the farm in his early years, when he had just made his money and wanted to say he had a 'place in the country.' He married mum a year later. Well bred, and wealthy but she was also an idiot. Father had rather old fashioned ideas about the place of women.

"My aunt – she lived with us, helped mum bring us up - had…set views about the upbringing and expectations of those born into privilege. Edina took to them more readily than I did.

"I learnt to ride at seven. Aunt insisted. Before they gave up on me and packed me away to private boarding school aged nine."

"Boarding school?"

"Er…oh, never mind, it's not important. Anyway, it was full of prissy rich kids, and prissy rich kids who like horses view them as status symbols. I hated every single one of them.

"You had a brother that you viewed as an equal. I had more happy times spent lying in the fields with horses, or sneaking out of a family gathering or business party and riding bareback down the beach in my nice skirts."

Loki chuckled.

We turned away from the cliff edge onto a long expanse of summer grass. The horses pulled and jogged, expecting a canter but we pulled them back.

I snuck a sidelong glance at Loki. The sack of potatoes seat was back but he wasn't doing too badly.

"Then the old man died. Cancer. The family moved to London. This farm would have been sold, but I resisted, and Edina gave me the deeds as an eighteenth birthday present. I've lived here ever since."

"Why?"

I stared at him. "What do you mean, why? I just told you."

His emerald green eyes were steady. He simply looked at me from beneath my old riding hat.

"That isn't the full story."

"Well that's all you're getting."

"Niamh, come on." He reined in suddenly. "Aunts and families do not begin hating you simply because you'd rather ride than stand in a corner and look pretty."

(No, don't bring it up, Edina was bad enough…)

Soiree sensed my sudden tension and began to jog on the spot. I told him to get a grip.

"Edina made a comment about boyfriends."

"You were listening?!"

"I couldn't help it, I have good hearing."

"That's eavesdropping, it's rude," I snapped.

"I said, I couldn't help it."

We began walking again.

"Niamh, there could be anything in the gaps in my memory."

"I know that, I just…" I trailed off. He was right. He wasn't running from what he might not know.

"My mum and my aunt are the daughters of a minor English peer – who isn't important. Old family. They weren't married, they were 'married off.' Aunt and Mum wanted the same for us. Eddy first, obviously. He's a chap from another rich family. Bought Dad's company. She gets on well enough with him.

"When I was seventeen there were several…_people_ my parents had lined up. Stinking rich, obviously. Will Carter was their favourite. He was seven years older than me and he was…charming. Until you got him alone."

We were approaching the descent to the beach.

"What did he do?"

"He…he, er…he would come onto me and take my resistance as being shy. He…"

* * *

_He was so handsome, the fairy tale prince with the dark hair and the beautiful eyes. He would visit the London house for half an hour every day and Aunt would shoo everyone else out and take them to lunch somewhere so we were alone, but she wouldn't believe me when I said I was scared of the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way he said I would belong to him and it was his right…"It __is__ his right, Niamh. Once you are married to him, you will be expected to bend to his 'will,' so to speak." She laughed a high, tinkling laugh at her own joke. _

* * *

I hadn't realised I'd fallen completely silent until a hand reached out and covered my own gloved one where it gripped Soiree's reins like a vice. Loki was riding so close his leg was brushing my own.

The Will incidents didn't bother me so much after so much time apart from _people_, and this was not the first time Loki had touched me. But I still flinched, and he withdrew.

"Aunt insisted he was the best match, no matter how many times I said no."

"So how come you weren't forced to marry him?"

"I decided I'd had enough one day. I punched him in the face."

Loki burst out laughing. I didn't.

"Laugh all you like. His family was furious, refused all further contact with any of us. Aunt was…incensed isn't the word. She all but threw me out of the house. The row was like nothing you've ever experienced."

He just looked at me. I flushed but he let it slide.

"So you hid away out here."

"It wasn't the only reason I chose the life of a recluse," I rejoined. "I never belonged in that world. If Edina hadn't given me the deeds to the farm, then I don't know where I'd be right now."

"She just handed you the farm?"

"I think she felt sorry for me after what happened."

We'd reached the cliff path. I went first, letting Soiree pick his way down the sandy track until we hit the beach, Bridie following us with sure steps.

Soiree began to dance, sensing a long run ahead.

Loki sat quietly atop Bridie fidgeting. "Niamh, I…I didn't mean to pry."

I ignored him. "Race you home!" I cried and let Soiree go.

"Not fair!" came the answering yell, but we were away, kicking up the sand and surf.

The chestnut mare and her rider soon drew level with us and we were neck and neck the whole way back. Both my horses are part thoroughbred. Their hooves hollowly _thwacked_ into the wet sand but they hardly seemed to touch the ground.

And Loki won, in the end.

* * *

_**Thoroughbreds are your classic racehorse and the ride of choice for a lot of event riders. Plenty of stamina, long legs, and ridiculously fast.** _

**_There goes another chapter. As I said, the repercussions of the abuse issue will continue to run as an underlying theme, just be warned. _**


	10. Crossing the Line

_**Hiii, sorry this took so long, my personal life hit the fan. And I admit to being nervous about this chapter. Trigger warning for swearing and attempted sexual assault. I apologise in advance if you think I've been insensitive with it - I know it's a sensitive subject for some. **_

* * *

We were still laughing as we clattered back into the yard. Loki was quiet, but smiling wider than I'd ever seen before.

Though I suppose I shouldn't have hoped for him to keep quiet about everything I'd said. I was rubbing down Soiree in his stable when his figure loomed in the doorway.

"So you lodged yourself into a corner and put up a barrier."

"Be fair, what was I supposed to do? After…that, I wanted nothing more to do with any of them. I'm not academic, horses are all I'm good at."

I've said that for almost twenty years and it still doesn't ring any truer.

"I'm just thinking, I was sent down here for a reason. And you and I aren't all that different." His tone took on a thoughtful edge, only half speaking to me.

He was right, though, there were some frankly scary parallels.

"Well done Hawkeye," I muttered.

And he doubled over, clutching his skull. Soiree shot backwards in surprise.

"Oh fuck it, what the hell did I say? Loki?!"

I leant over the half-door. He was on his knees, panting.

"What was that?" I unlatched the door and knelt to his level.

"Hawkeye…the name of someone I used to know. In a very loose sense."

(For God's sake, don't say one night stand…)

"I took his mind…if that's possible. And several others." His eyes lifted to meet mine. A fine sheen of sweat shone on his forehead.

"That's…not disturbing at all."

"Sarcasm."

"Absolutely."

"But I wouldn't have done that unless I had to, so why did I have to?" He winced again. "No…I can't remember. Fuck, this is so…" Abruptly he stood and strode off across the yard.

I took half a second to process _Loki swearing_ and hurried after him, bolting Soirees door behind me.

He stood, in the centre of my yard, arms outstretched.

"Snippets?!" he yelled at the heavens. "Is that all I am worthy of, snippets? Is that all you will give me, Allfather? I have HAD IT with half the story! What do you not want me to know?!"

Nobody answered him but the seagulls and the wash of the Channel.

"Tell me! TELL ME!" he screamed.

Nothing.

His knees buckled and he sank to the ground. "Please…" he breathed. "Just tell me, please. Why can't I know…?" His voice cracked on the last word, into a half sob.

* * *

My boots stepped across the concrete towards his prone figure. One step. Two steps. Three. Hesitant, small.

I knelt beside him. I reached out an arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. I made myself sit quiet when he leaned into me. His arms curled around my waist. I could feel him fighting not to break down.

Awkwardly I brought up my other hand and cradled his head against my chest. His hair smelt slightly of salt, and something I couldn't name.

We were comparative strangers, friends by convenience only a few short weeks ago. Now we were two rejects, cuddling on cold concrete.

What a strange thought.

"He never used to tell us anything, even when we were young," Loki mumbled against my jacket. "Now I've grown up and he still won't tell me a damn thing."

"My aunt was like that. Expectations, not orders."

"He lied, for years."

"They told me the blunt truth."

"It shaped you."

"And broke you."

"Can I go back? Whatever it was, can I go back from it?"

"I don't know."

"Will we ever know?"

I didn't answer.

Stray pieces of straw swept through the yard, borne on the breeze. I rarely sweep, there's no point, not with this much wind.

We sat there until I felt ready to let him go. When I did it was a mutual shift. This time, he rose first.

"Coffee, I think." He held out a hand.

I didn't hesitate to take it.

* * *

But I watched him for the next week, looking for the snap. I'd not realised how worn thin he was by this.

My own curiosity had been piqued as well. The internet would only tell me one side. I wanted the full story.

It didn't seem to come. This should have set my mind at rest, but only put me on edge.

Maybe because I knew it was coming.

He was quieter. He still worked with me, with Mirage, but he didn't say much, only speaking to ask questions. At supper he ate slowly, toying with his food before eating it, always in silence.

I knew it didn't bode well for either of us, whatever was playing with his mind. If he was to go off…I had the human equivalent of a nuclear bomb sitting in my front room, playing with my stereo system.

* * *

He had on one of my old Best of the 80s CDs and was flipping between tracks as and when it suited him. It was getting on my nerves. I was curled up in my favourite armchair doing my feed inventory and the constant flipping between songs wasn't helping my concentration.

One of us had to snap first and it was probably going to be me. Though the blank expression on his face could have been hiding anything.

After 45 minutes I threw down my pen. "Will you stop that? Please?"

He gave me a Look form under his lashes and flipped the song again.

"Loki. Give me the remote."

Flip.

"You're not doing anyone any favours."

Flip.

"_LOKI."_

Flip.

I stood and strode across the room, intent on grabbing the remote from him bodily.

I reached for it. And closed my fingers on air, that flashed around my hands.

I leapt backwards as the duplicate vanished.

I spun. Loki was halfway across the room, still holding the remote control. His expression was somewhere between shit-eating grin and mild panic.

I was just confused.

I lunged towards him again, _fell straight through him_ and face-planted onto the carpet.

"Ok, what is this?" I picked myself up and glared at Loki, who was now the other side of the room.

He was quivering. I thought he was laughing at me. Then I realised he wasn't smiling.

"It's my magic. It's started manifesting again. I just willed myself to dodge you and…well."

The duplicate stood just in front of me, staring blankly at the wall. The literal elephant in the room. Along with the loaded silence.

"That's more than a bit scary you know."

"Ah but it feels good."

I looked at the real Loki. His countenance seemed refreshed as though he had woken from a long sleep. With a flick of his wrist the illusion vanished.

"I didn't know how much I'd missed it." With a small finger movement, a ball of blue-white light appeared in his palm, which immediately spilt into a lot of smaller balls that started bouncing around the room like hyperactive fairies. I dived for cover behind the sofa.

"Okay, stop now, please."

One of my vases smashed.

"Hey, Loki!"

But he was deaf to me.

A bronze ornament of a running horse fell from the fake mantelpiece with a resounding thud. A ball of light glanced off an abstract painting and cracked the frame.

In the midst of this chaos stood the God of Mischief, arms outstretched, his face alive as he revelled in his creations.

He would destroy my house if he continued.

Wary of any stray balls (shut up), I crouched, ran forward from behind the sofa, and rugby-tackled him. We hit the floor with a thud. The balls of light burst with loud popping noises.

I pinned him beneath me. "Stop. It." I loaded my voice with as much authority as I could, but it shook, wrecking the effect.

In half a second he had me flipped, so I was pinned to my sitting room carpet. Panic began clawing its way up my chest. "Loki, get off me."

"_You_ would threaten _me_? Me, the God of Mischief and Chaos?" he purred in my ear, his musical voice soft and sibilant and utterly, terrifyingly seductive. I struggled a little but he pressed down with his hips, effectively cutting off my movement.

I haven't been scared in years, not seriously. My panic moments are born out of a desire to avoid people altogether, but this was different. This was the deep seated fear the sight of Will had always aroused in me.

There was no sign of my Loki, the man I'd come to respect and _like_, in the man who loomed over me, blocking out the soft lamplight.

"I could tear you apart with a snap of the fingers," he whispered.

"Loki. Snap out of it, p…_please_."

He simply chuckled darkly. "That's it. You are seeing me now, the monster. You fear me now." He brushed my hair out of my eyes almost tenderly. "And you like it." His voice dropped yet again, became a sibilant breath.

"Loki…"

"I could have you. I could have you right here, right now, on this floor." One hand released my shoulder and slid softly down my side, coming to rest at my hips. "And you wouldn't stop me. You _couldn't _stop me." That hand was almost at the zipper on my jeans.

I knew struggling was useless. That man was twice as strong as me.

"You wouldn't," I said hoarsely, summoning my last dregs of stubborn courage.

"And why not?"

"Because if you were a monster, you'd have done it by now."

That got him. Some of the wildness faded from his eyes to be replaced with shock.

"You'd have done it in the first week or so. Taken me for everything I have and left."

His grip on me loosened.

"You're power-drunk, Loki. It's overwhelmed you. Please, calm down. Please…"

Abruptly he rolled off me and stood up. I took a long, deep breath now his physical weight was off my chest. Some of the panic subsided, but I only sat up. I didn't trust my legs to hold me. I couldn't stop shaking.

He had curled himself into my armchair, head in hands. Heavy breathing and muffled words came from the depths of the ball. A lot of them sounded like swearwords.

But unlike this afternoon, I couldn't go to him. All I could do was sit there, in the wreckage, and watch him, frozen.

So the man in the newspapers did exist.

"You aren't a monster."

"Am I not?" He looked up and what hit me wasn't the look of utter horror on his face, it was the single tear sliding down it. "I could have killed you. Or worse…" he bent his head again, unable to meet my eye. _Good._

Still reeling, I said nothing. Just let the silence grow and thicken.

CLANG.

The ring of the doorbell shattered the silence, and my frayed nerves.

Shakily I stood and walked unsteadily to the front door.

And straight back into MIB territory.

* * *

The men standing at the door were wearing dark suits and wraparound glasses. No fucking joke, the suits were at the door.

"What the hell do you want?" I snapped.

"Miss Stonebridge, we're from the Strategic Homeland Intervention Espionage and Logistics Division." He spoke with an American accent.

"You're from where?"

"Shield. We need to talk to you about your houseguest."

(As if my evening couldn't get any worse.) I arranged my face into what I hoped was a mask of nonchalance and confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Miss Stonebridge, we've had your house under observation for a while now. You can't lie to us. We know you're harbouring the war criminal known as Loki Laufeyson."

"I'm not harbouring anybody." Next to his easy, calm drawl, I sounded impossibly posh. (Like my aunt, and my mum, and my sister, and wasn't that a horrible thought, and I've had enough of this for one night...)

At that moment, like a horrible cliché, glass broke in one of the rooms (there go the French windows.) I whipped around, then looked back to the expressionless men at the door.

It was pretty clear what was happening.

"You can't just break into my…"

Then I saw who was being frog-marched down my drive through the dark, in chains no less. Loki wasn't putting up a fight, he never took his eyes of his shoes, despite the two bulky agents either side of him.

"What the hell…OI! You can't just molest him like that!" I made to move towards him, but hands pulled me back. I never so much as heard them come up behind me. They could give Loki a run for his money in silent walking.

"If I'm not mistaken, Niamh -" I bristled at his casual use of my name "– this man just attempted to sexually assault you. I find it difficult to see why you would be defending him now."

I look at Loki again. And hesitated. Agent Nameless was right. He had touched me without permission after smashing up my front room. I ought to be thankful he was being taken away. Planet Earth's Public Enemy Number One, who had abused my trust.

So my next words startled me.

"Because…because he stopped."

* * *

The agent motioned to the two men gripping my arms, who promptly began dragging me out of my own front door.

If I was annoyed before I was incensed now. "OI! Get the fuck off me you brutes! What the hell are you-!"

"I'm sorry Miss, but you're coming with us. We need to debrief you. Properly."

"No! No, I can't leave the horses! I won't leave my horses!" Bridie, Soiree, Mirage, Quickie, who would look after them? Kismet, Americano, their owners trusted me. I started struggling harder.

"They'll be well looked after, Miss Stonebridge. You can count on that."

"Why?" I spat. "How do I know any of you know jack shit about horses?"

"Because." The agent removed his glasses to reveal soft brown eyes that implored me to believe him. (As if mate.) "It's our job to know everything.

Their grips were like iron. My arms were bruising. I gave up struggling. Like Loki, I was frogmarched away.

* * *

They had a fucking great futuristic jet parked in the field across the road from my house. How the hell we never heard it land I don't know. Loki was probably too busy breaking things.

They strapped me in a seat across from Loki. I refused to meet his eyes. Instead I glanced around the interior. Parachutes along a unit behind the seats. An open cockpit with seat for two pilots and an array of complicated looking buttons and switches and flashing plasma screens. An unassuming man wearing glasses and a green shirt sat at the front just behind the co-pilot, twisting his hands nervously. He looked more like a scientist than an agent. Maybe he was more dangerous than he looked. Loki, I noticed (traitorous eyes) was eyeing him warily. This put my guard up even more.

I tucked my hair back behind my ears. The ramp groaned and whirred shut. And the jet lifted smoothly off the ground and sped away from my life and into the night.

**END OF PART ONE**

* * *

_**Et voila, as they say in France. Thanks for sticking with this guys!**_

_**Part two will be up as and when. I'm about halfway through writing the chapters for it. Expect The Avengers, the helicarrier, a lot of shit being blown up, a couple of other ship cameos and lots n lots of our favourite God of Mischeif. When I have a title for it, I'll let you know for those of you who aren't on Author Alert. **_

_**Hugs and kisses and adios for now**_

_**MixedMedia xx**_


End file.
